Ashendale
by MindfulWrath
Summary: Richard origins fic. Because everyone has to start somewhere.
1. Chapter 1

Young Richard Ashendale liked the rain. It was one of the many things he liked that his father did not approve of. The nursemaids had said it was normal for a boy of his age to want to play in the mud, and Richard had gone ahead and let them think that. The rain made the worms in the garden come to the surface, and the things Richard could do with a worm would curdle milk. It was better no one knew about it. Now that he was almost an adult, however, he had to be more careful with his excursions; it was normal for a six-year-old to play in the mud, but it was _not_ normal for a sixteen-year-old.

Richard was not a normal boy, although he pretended very hard he was one. At first it was because he was trying to please his implacable father, but that soon fell through when he realized his father would never be happy with him no matter what he did. After that he pretended to be normal because he did not want anyone to know he was strange, because he knew they would pick on him, and he would be given no choice but to implement the strategies he had been practicing on the worms. Later, when his father took him away from his tenuous friends and confined him to the grounds of his plantation house, Richard pretended to be normal because it was the only way people would leave him alone. During the day he poured himself into his unbearably boring studies, and then at night, or in the rain, he would sneak out of the house and find worms to toy with. Every so often he would find a night bird or a wandering dog, and those were _really_ good nights.

It was raining that day, and Richard had decided it was time to renew his father's permission to go wandering the grounds in the rain. He could have left his father's estate at any time, but he did not think the world would be ready for him, unless it was with torches and pitchforks.

The hall was empty of servants, empty of portraits and curtains and tapestries, empty of ornamental vases and busts of ancestors. The hall was empty, like all the halls in the Ashendale estate. Lord Ashendale was not fond of his family, and he was not fond of excess, and so the estate he had inherited was barren and cold and _boring._ The door to the baron's study was huge, carved from oak, inlaid with brass. Richard hated that door. He had sworn to himself long ago that he would burn it to the ground. He was just waiting for the right day.

Richard knocked. He always knocked, because if he didn't, his father would not speak to him. Then he waited.

"Enter."

Richard entered.

The Lord Ashendale's study was as barren as the rest of the estate of artwork and comfort, but was at least strewn with papers and open books. Lord Ashendale liked to prepare for invasions in his spare time, and he studied war histories and strategic maps with uncanny devotion.

"What do you want?" Lord Ashendale snapped, not even looking up. His head was bent over a book, the grey light from outside draining the color from his sun-weathered face, his graying auburn hair, his black and red robes. Lord Ashendale resembled his son in face only―he was tanned and bulky, and grew his hair out long―and Richard wasn't sure if he hated the similarities or the differences more. The Ashendale heir cleared his throat, because he was always nervous around his father. He hated this fact, but could do nothing to change it.

"Father, I was hoping you would grant your permission―"

"No."

"But you didn't even let me finish!"

"You are not going outside today, Richard, and that is final. You will stay in here, and you will continue your studies. Your tutor tells me your progress is declining."

Richard fumed, but refused to rise to the bait. "Have you talked with Mother about this?" he asked stiffly.

"Yes." his father replied. "She feels the same way I do. Now go."

Richard almost stayed and had a good screaming row, but instead he just bowed and left, slamming the door behind him.

Richard was at a loss. He wandered through empty corridors, trailing his delicate, long-fingered hands along the barren walls; he peeked into empty rooms, letting only the top of his head and his eyes protrude across the threshold; he rattled locked doors like a mournful spirit. It was almost a quarter of an hour before he finally found her―in the sunroom, sitting by the window and reading.

She was once a beautiful woman. She had grown older, and had aged with as much grace as she could muster. She was thin and fragile, like a statue made from blown glass, and seemed almost translucent in the gray, rainy light. She looked like a ghost, dressed all in white, fading away even as he watched.

Richard coughed politely. "Um, Mother?" he said. Lady Ashendale looked up, and her face spread into a smile when she saw him.

"Richard." she said, and patted the seat beside her. "Come, sit down."

"How are you?" Richard inquired, taking one of her small, dainty hands in his own. Richard had strong hands, although nobody had managed yet to figure out why.

"Oh, I've been better." she replied, still smiling. "The rain, you know."

"Yes, I know." Richard stared out at the drizzle for a moment before saying, "_You_ know, Mother, it's been raining for three days now."

"I know." she answered. "And what of it?"

"Father still won't let me go out."

Lady Ashendale sighed. "I know, Richard. But it's for your own good, believe me. He just wants the best for you. He wants you to have a good life." She patted his hands and her smile became wistful. "He's worried you'll end up like me, you see."

"I don't think that would be so bad."

"Oh, Richard, my little mud-pie. Why this obsession with the rain? Why do you never go out in the sun?"

Richard thought hard for an answer that didn't involve explaining about the worms. "I can think better in the rain." he answered at last. "Something about the atmosphere."

"I don't know. Something has been killing the cats, and your father and I are worried that whatever it is could still be out there."

Richard almost laughed. _Oh no, Mother. Whatever-it-is is in here._

"Mother, I think I can handle a fox. Even a wolf wouldn't present too much of a problem."

Lady Ashendale's lined face went hard. "Richard, we do not speak about that."

"Why not?" Richard objected. "If you could just see―the things I can do with a bucket of dirt and some bones would―"

"It brings nothing but ruin." Lady Ashendale snapped, pulling her hand from Richard's. Then she coughed. "You will not speak of it and you will not practice it. That is final." She softened and said, "You can do wonderful things with your own two hands, without any outside help. I know you can. Now, I'm sure you have studies you could be catching up on. Please do, Richard. For me."

Richard sighed and hung his head. "Yes, Mother." he said, and got to his feet. "For you."

* * *

><p>His brain was going to start dripping out his ears. Any moment. The next second could be the one where his liquified gray matter at last gave up the ghost and trickled out through all available orifices.<p>

Richard was _bored._

He was sitting in his own study (as far from his father's as one could get without leaving the main building), staring out the narrow window, chin propped on his hand. An open book lay at his elbow, the tasseled silk cord that served as a bookmark lying crookedly across the pages.

There was a knock at the door. Richard leapt to his bare feet, knocking over his chair as he hastened to answer it.

"_Finally,_" Richard said, throwing the door open wide. "I thought I'd be stuck here all day."

There was a maid standing there, looking intimidated. She was head and shoulders shorter than Richard, and seemed even smaller because she was hunched in upon herself in an almost defensive manner. She gazed up at him with big, brown eyes that reminded him of a puppy's. Richard hastily quashed the fire that had sprung to his fingertips, grinding them out like five cigarettes against his door.

"L-Lord Richard?" the maid stammered. "Your . . . father would like to see you."

Richard sighed and sagged against the smoking door. "This is a first." he said. "I don't think he's ever _wanted_ to see me before."

"Um, he said it was . . . rather urgent."

"He can wait." Richard snapped. He tapped his chin, thinking. "What could he possibly want?"

"I-I don't know."

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Yes, my lord."

"Stop calling me that."

"Yes, sir."

"How many times do I have to tell you?"

"None more, sir."

Richard smiled. "You know I'm just messing with you, don't you?"

The maid smiled, still terrified. "Um, yes? Sir?"

"You still have to call me 'my lord.'"

The smile was almost frantic. "But . . . you just said―"

"Some people have no sense of humor." said Richard, waving a hand dismissively. He sighed. "Fine, I suppose I'll go see what my troll of a father wants."

The maid was scandalized. "Sir! You shouldn't speak of your father like that!"

A look of horror crept onto Richard's face. "Oh Gods," he murmured, "what was I thinking? He's obviously listening to everything we say because he's that vain and paranoid." The horror was replaced by annoyance. "Not that he _couldn't_ if he weren't such a coward about it." He brushed past the maid and stormed off. She breathed a sigh of relief once she was sure he was gone.

"_And you still have to call me 'my lord!'"_ he called from around the corner.

* * *

><p>Richard swept through the halls like a cold wind. The servants stayed as far out of his way as they possibly could, hiding like mice from a prowling cat. The young Lord Ashendale almost didn't knock at his father's door, but decided to at the last moment because his father <em>might<em> have changed his mind.

"Enter." came the call from within. Richard entered.

"Took you long enough." said Lord Ashendale. Richard missed the days when he was young enough that he could throw things without it being immature. "Sit down."

Richard sat, stiff-backed, in the only other chair in the room, directly across the desk from his father.

"Your mother came to speak with me."

"Ah." said Richard.

"She told me to let you out of the house, or you would climb out your window and fall to your death."

"I see." said Richard. "That was perceptive of her."

"So," said Lord Ashendale, head still bent over his work, "you may go out today."

"Thank you, Father." said Richard, rising.

"Sit." his father commanded. "There are three conditions. First, you will not ruin another set of clothes with your grubbing about in the mud. Second, you will remain within the grounds. And third, you will be back before sunset. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Father." said Richard, petulantly.

"Go, then." Lord Ashendale waved a hand dismissively. Richard stood, bowed, and took his leave.

There was a spring in Richard's step as he walked down the barren hallway, and he hummed to himself on his way to the back entrance of the house―it was the quicker way to the gardens. He paused at the door to take off his shoes and socks and left them just inside the door.

The rain had slackened for the time being into a light drizzle, so it was several minutes before Richard was noticeably damp. By then he had made it to the gardens and was kneeling by a patch of flowers, long fingers buried up to the second knuckle in the mud, probing its depths for something small and wriggling. To his left, something sneezed.

He turned his head sharply and saw something retreat farther into one of the rose bushes. He caught a glimpse of a bedraggled white and orange tail.

"Here kitty," said Richard, holding out a hand to the bush. "come on, here girl."

The cat in the bush mewled pitifully. Richard crawled a few feet nearer, one muddy hand still outstretched.

"Oh, who's a cat, then?" said Richard, as he saw a pair of doleful eyes peer out at him from the rose bush. "Come on, kitty, I'm only going to hurt you."

The cat mewled again, stepping a little closer to the edge of the overhanging rose bush. It looked scruffy and thin, with burs in its fur and black gunk around its eyes. The cat took one more step forward and Richard snatched it up gently, cradling it to his chest. It began purring.

"There's a good girl." said Richard, getting to his feet and softly stroking the cat. "Let's go to the forest! Nobody's going to miss _you_."

* * *

><p>Richard was sitting with his back against a tree, shoulders slumped, eyes half-closed, a satisfied smile lingering on his thin lips. He had rolled up his sleeves, and something dark speckled his twiggy arms up to the elbows. His hands were black with it.<p>

"That went _stunningly_ well." he commented to no one. "I like this hat."

There were footsteps to his left. He glanced at the disturbance, otherwise completely still. When he heard the gasp, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, waiting for the scream. It never happened. Disappointed, Richard finally turned his head, looking to see who had found him.

"What have you done?" said the intruder. It was one of the grounds keepers, an old woman with tightly-bound steel-gray hair. She turned, scandalized, to Richard and repeated, "What have you _done?"_

Richard sighed and heaved himself to his feet. She was still staring at him with the same scandalized look of horror. "Oh, don't look at me like that." he reprimanded. "It's not like anyone would have _missed_ it. And it makes a great hat. I think it suits me."

"You _monster!_" cried the grounds keeper. "It was an innocent animal!"

"It was a _cat._" Richard pointed out. "The day I see an innocent _cat_ is the day I eat my shoes. Have you ever seen an innocent cat?"

"Why would you do this?"

Richard put a hand to his chin, considering. "Although, you know, they're pretty fine leather, so they _might_ actually be edible."

The woman grabbed him by his narrow shoulders, shaking him. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Of course I do." Richard scoffed. "It's a methodical, step-by-step process. First you set them on fire, because the way they run around when they're on fire is really _hilarious_―"

"You _monster._" the woman repeated.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Richard replied. "And anyway, what's to stop me from doing the same thing to _you?_"

The look of terror on the woman's face was priceless. "You . . . you wouldn't." she said, taking a step back.

"Wouldn't I? I think I probably would."

"I . . . I won't say a word." the woman said, still backing away. "I swear."

"Oh, calm down. I'm not going to kill you. I have to be back by sunset. It would take too long." He flicked his fingers at her, eyes gleaming. "Go on, go. Nobody's stopping you."

The woman turned and ran. Richard laughed.

* * *

><p>Richard returned home when the sun was a gray splotch on the horizon, mud squishing between his long toes. He was humming tunelessly, picking dirt out from under his fingernails. When he reached the back door, he was surprised to find someone waiting for him.<p>

"Maikos!" he said. "What a surprise! I saw your mother today."

"Hello, my lord. Cutting it rather close, aren't you?"

"_Some_ things have been cut rather close."

The man winced. He was short and rather portly, with scruffy red hair that seemed to have slid down off the top of his head and onto the sides of his face. "Yes, my lord. I'm sure they have. Would you like me to inform your father that you have returned?"

"You didn't already?"

"You only just arrived."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"How was I to know when you would be back?"

Richard sighed dramatically and threw out his hands in exasperation. "Maikos, you were supposed to _lie_ to him and tell him I was already back."

"No one told me that." Maikos objected. Richard seized him by the lapels, hoisting him of the ground.

"Don't sass me!" he cried, his face inches from Maikos's. "There's no crying in baseball!"

"Er, no, my lord. I'm sure there's not."

Richard dropped him carelessly and dusted off his sleeves. "Oh fine. Go tell my father I'm back, if you must. And make sure everyone knows I'm not to be disturbed tonight."

"Yes, my lord. A successful excursion, my lord?"

Richard sighed. "It could have been, but there are only so many hours in a day. Hop to it, Maikos!"

"Yes, my lord." said Maikos, bowed, and scampered away.

Richard stared after him for a moment, one hand on his hip. "I bet flaming rats would be funny." he commented, smiling to himself, and then followed the servant inside, tracking muddy footprints across the cold stone floor. And then, as the house settled down around his shoulders, "I miss my hat. Cat hat, I miss you."

"What did I tell you about being home by sunset?" a voice boomed ahead of him. Richard slumped, annoyance and disappointment vying for prevalence on his pointed face. Lord Ashendale stormed in and took in the scene. He saw Richard, shirt ruined from the day's activities, barefoot, tracking mud across the floor, staring off to one side crossly, water dripping from his short-cropped hair. "_And what is that all over your shirt?"_

"Blood." Richard answered, glaring at his father. "It's blood."

Lord Ashendale had been red-faced before, but he then turned an interesting shade of purple. "What in the thirteen hells have you been _doing_, boy?"

"You know that thing that's been killing the cats?" Richard said, crossing his arms. "I ran into it."

Some of the outrage faded from Lord Ashendale's face. "You killed it?"

Richard laughed at him. "Ha! No. Not even close."

"Explain. Now."

He drew himself up to his full height and glowered at his father. "No." he said. "_You_ explain. You explain to _me_ why I'm not allowed to use my talents. You explain to _me_ what you're so afraid of. You, Father, explain to _me_, why I'm a prisoner in my own home."

"Don't you dare speak to me like that."

"Why? What are you going to do about it? Beat me?" Richard taunted, and then sneered. "Just _give_ me a reason, you stupid coward."

"Go to your room." Lord Ashendale ordered, voice dangerously quiet. "Now."

"No. I don't think I will."

"_Now,_ Richard Clarence Ashendale."

Richard winced. "Did you _have_ to use the whole name? It's bad enough I have it. You don't have to _remind_ me."

"Do I need to tell you again?"

"No. Because I'm not going. I'm not a child anymore."

"You're acting like one. Grubbing around in the mud like some commoner, ruining perfectly good sets of clothes―"

"I've been killing the cats." Richard said.

Silence.

"What?"

"What? I didn't say anything."

"You tell me this _instant_ what you were doing out there."

"It's not your business."

"I will never allow you to go outside again."

"Ha! You say that like you think you can stop me."

Lord Ashendale frowned. "Do I need to bring your mother into this? It'll break her heart, you know."

"You'd better not tell her, then."

The two stared at each other for a moment.

"I'm going to take a bath, and then I'm going to bed." said Richard.

"Very well." said Lord Ashendale.

And then, simultaneously, they said, "You will not speak of this," and parted ways.

* * *

><p>Late that night, Richard lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the dark, hands clasped behind his head. The sounds of insects drifted in through his open window, along with the chill of the night. He sighed and closed his eyes, scratching his ear.<p>

"I miss my cat hat." he said, and rolled over.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Don't get used to having updates this close together. I'll try to do them weekly on Wednesdays from now on, but this one was ready and I didn't feel like waiting, so. Happy 4th!**

* * *

><p><em>Johnathan, you can't.<em>

_ I can, and I must. This cannot be allowed to continue._

Richard sniffled in his sleep and rolled over, pressing his too-soft pillow over his head to drown out the dream-voices; but they would not be ignored.

_He's only a boy. It isn't his fault._

_ He's not a boy and it is his fault. God only knows what he's been doing out there all this time._

Slowly, Richard drifted to the surface of sleep and woke. He rubbed his eyes, expression sour.

"Give him a chance to explain himself," came one of the dream-voices, drifting from the mirror on Richard's bedside table. He stared at it for a moment, until it spoke again. "This isn't something you can just rush into."

Richard snatched up the mirror and glared into it. Instead of his reflection, he saw the image of his parents, seated together in a small breakfasting room, illuminated by gray dawn light.

"I'm not rushing into it. I've thought long and hard about this, and I've made up my mind."

"I still think we should talk to him. He has an explanation, you can count on it. You can't do this to him, Johnathan."

Lord Ashendale's fist crashed down on the table, making the tableware jump. "I can and I will! I would rather have no heir at all than let _him_ inherit the estate!"

Breath was drawn, slowly. "If that is what you choose to do, I cannot stop you. But know that I oppose this decision, and I always will."

"Duly noted." growled Lord Ashendale. "Maikos!"

There was a pause, and then the servant entered and bowed. "Yes, my lord?"

"Wake Richard and tell him to meet me in my study. We have business to discuss."

"Yes, my lord." said Maikos, bowing again. Richard set down the mirror, wiping away the image with a careless wave of his hand. He sat on the edge of his bed, unmoving, until there was a knock at his door.

"Come in, Maikos." he said. Maikos entered, looking fearful.

"My lord, your father―"

"I know. Shut the door, Maikos." The servant complied. "What were they planning?"

"What? I . . . don't know, my lord."

"You were standing right there, I know you heard. What were they planning?"

Maikos swallowed nervously. "Er . . . I believe your father is planning to disinherit you."

Richard stared at the servant long and hard. "Is that what you think?" he asked softly.

"Um, yes, my lord."

"Ha! No, Maikos. My father isn't stupid. He wouldn't _dare_ disinherit me." Richard stood and stretched. "No, I think he's planning to kill me."

"Oh, surely you don't suppose―"

"I _do_ suppose. And don't call me 'Shirley.' You're not on that list."

"Lord Richard, I highly doubt your own father would try to _murder_ you."

"Really? Maybe he _is_ stupid. Because if he disinherits me," and here he smiled like the Devil, "I'll kill him."

Maikos looked puzzled, watching confusedly as Richard paced up and down his room. "But, I thought you didn't _want_ to be heir to the estate, my lord?"

"What? Who told you that?"

"You did, my lord."

"Oh." Richard paused, scratching his chin, and then continued pacing. "It's the thought that counts."

"Of course, my lord."

"Could you stop agreeing with everything I say?"

Maikos thought about this. "Um, no? My lord?"

Richard stared at him for a moment, standing still, and then laughed. "Good for you, Maikos. We'll make a man out of you yet." The pacing began again. "Still. I don't think he's going to disinherit me. That might be what he _says_ he's going to do, but I think I'm going to start having a lot more unfortunate accidents. Possibly involving swords and other pointy objects."

Clearing his throat, the servant said, "Nevertheless, my lord, your father would like to meet with you."

"Oh fine. I'll go see what he wants." Richard headed for the door.

"Sir, are you not going to dress first?" said Maikos. His master was dressed only in a white night-shirt, short trousers, and a wooly cap with a bobble on the end.

"Ah, of course." said Richard, and slipped his bare feet into a pair of slippers shaped like bunnies. "Ready!"

* * *

><p>"These would be better if they were made of real rabbits." Richard grumbled as he walked with Maikos to his father's office. "Don't you think so? You could preserve their eyes so they keep that hapless look."<p>

Maikos made a face of distaste. "Perhaps, my lord. What would you do about the legs?"

Richard squinted at him. "I don't understand the question."

"Well, er, they would flop around when you walked."

There was a pause.

"And?"

"Wouldn't it be unseemly?"

"It would be hilarious."

They stopped, staring at the oak and brass door, and then looked at each other.

"Nose goes!" Richard cried, pressing a finger to his nose swiftly. "Too slow. Knock, Maikos."

Maikos sighed and knocked.

"Enter." said Lord Ashendale, and the servant opened the door. "Maikos, you remain outside."

Maikos bowed. "Yes, my lord."

"And close the door behind you."

"Yes, my lord."

The door closed like a prison gate.

"Is this the part where you disinherit me?" Richard asked abruptly. For once, his father wasn't poring over his books and charts, and was sitting facing the door, staring right at his son.

"Sit down, Richard."

"We could just get this over with now. You know, you disinherit me and then I throw a party." He pulled a small brown bag out from nowhere, reached into it, and threw out a handful of multicolored confetti. "The quicker we get this over with, the longer I have for partying."

"Sit _down._"

"Oh fine." said Richard, and sat, holding his bag of confetti in his lap. "But you're not invited to my party."

Lord Ashendale sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Richard, I have always tried to be a good father to you."

"Aw, that's sweet." Richard replied. "You failed."

"I know. And I am sorry."

"Skip the apology and disinherit me." Richard interrupted. His fingers were twitching, and a crooked smile played on his thin lips. "I have a _lot_ of partying to do."

"I'm not disinheriting you."

Richard's face fell. "Then what am I supposed to tell the clowns?"

"Be quiet for ten seconds and _listen_ to me."

He looked down at his hands, and then said, "That won't work. Clowns never listen."

"You don't belong here. You've become a loose cannon, and there's too much here for you to hit."

"I object. Cannons are boring. Can't I be a panther? A loose panther?"

"_Therefore_, your mother and I have decided that it would be best for everyone if you took a vacation to the countryside."

"And never came back." said Richard, his voice suddenly cold as ice. "I knew you weren't stupid enough to try disowning me."

"I'm not going to have you assassinated, Richard."

"Sure." he replied, rising from his seat. "And I'm not going to the countryside."

"And why not? You hate this place."

"I do. But one thing we have in common, father, is that I'm not stupid either."

"Richard, _please_, set aside your paranoid delusions for one _minute_ and listen to me."

"They're not delusions and I'm not paranoid."

"Your mother suggested it!"

"That I have paranoid delusions? That doesn't sound like her."

"Your trip to the countryside. It was _her_ idea."

Richard stood still for a moment. "Oh." he said.

"_Oh._" his father mimicked, rubbing his temples. "There's a house not far inland from here that belonged to our family before the schism. My second cousin, Sir Arthur Dellbridge, and his daughter live there now."

"So you're just going to pass me off to relatives you don't like in the hopes that I'll burn their house down?" Richard said, leaning on his father's desk. "Because, I can _do_ that. I'm glad you've finally accepted my talents and are using them to your advantage."

"_You won't be burning anything down!_" Lord Ashendale roared. "Your mother and I have decided that Catherine Dellbridge―my cousin's daughter―would make an ideal wife for you. If you are to inherit this estate, you are going to do it properly."

The air in the room got perceptibly colder.

"An ideal _what?_" said Richard, consonants clipped.

"We were thinking December for the wedding."

"I've never even met her."

"Not an issue." his father said. "This is about politics, not personality."

"I've never even _seen_ her."

"Her family split from ours almost fifty years ago. Reuniting the lines would almost double the family fortunes."

"Couldn't you just kill me instead? That would be much simpler."

"And our land holdings would triple in size."

Richard seized his father by the collar and hauled him out of his chair, dragging him halfway across his own desk.

"I swear on the blood of my ancestors, if you even _try _to marry me to _anyone_, I will kill you and every man, woman, child, and dog in this little barony, and I will not stop until everyone who ever _heard_ the name 'Ashendale' is a smoking pile of organs."

"Oh?" croaked Lord Ashendale. "Even your mother?"

"Except her. There won't even _be_ an Ashendale estate when I'm done. Just a greasy smudge by the sea."

"And what will your mother think of all this?"

Richard paused. "I . . . didn't think about that."

Lord Ashendale's voice, although strangled, became softer, coaxing. "This is what your mother wants for you, Richard. If I had my way you would already be a pauper on the streets, but she thinks that this is what is best, and I trust her. Don't you?"

Richard dropped his father and turned his back. "I don't trust anyone." he said, and made as if to leave. "And if this _is _all an elaborate trap, and you _are _sending assassins, you had better hope the first one kills me."

His bunny slippers made soft flapping sounds as he walked away.

* * *

><p>"He can't do this to me, Maikos." Richard said, stuffing a silk shirt haphazardly into his large leatherbound trunk. "He can't just shuttle me off to some far corner of the continent and <em>marry me off<em>."

Maikos cleared his throat, shifting uneasily. "Well, my lord, that seems to be exactly what he's doing."

Richard rolled his eyes and shoved a pair of hand-tailored trousers into the trunk as though he were stabbing it. "That's not what I _mean,_ Maikos. I mean he's not going to get away with it. I'm not following along with his stupid plans."

"But, my lord, they're your mother's plans."

"No." Richard replied, stomping on the suitcase. "She wouldn't do this. She knows my opinions about marriage. And she doesn't hate that side of our family as much as my father does."

Maikos raised an eyebrow. "Your father hates the Dellbridges?"

"Well he must. Why else would he be sending _me_ there?" Richard sighed and sat on his suitcase. "This isn't right, Maikos. They wouldn't try to do this. They would know it wouldn't work. They're not stupid."

"You don't still think―"

"I _do_ still think, and that's what sets me apart from you. My father is trying to have me killed, Maikos. He said himself he would rather have no heir at all than have me as one."

"I really think you're overreacting, my lord."

"Hah!" Richard pinched his thumb and first finger together and held them up. "I care _this_ much what you think."

Maikos hung his head, fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically. "My lord, I highly doubt your father would have you murdered under Professor Sokol's nose."

The young lord went stiff. "_He's_ coming?"

Maikos nodded. "Your father finds it prudent for you to continue your studies during your . . . ah, excursion."

"I will kill him." Richard said, voice high and lilting. "I will kill him in his sleep."

"My lord, I don't think that's a good idea."

Richard looked at the ceiling, considering. "You're right. I should kill him while he's awake so I can draw it out."

"Lord Richard, I must ask you, as your friend―"

"You're not my friend."

"As the closest thing to a friend you have―"

"Acceptable."

"Not to murder your tutor on the road to the Dellbridge house."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Is this a formal request?"

"No, my lord. This is one man to another, asking you to see sense."

"You're not a man." Richard pointed out. "You're a spineless coward."

Maikos put his shoulders back and drew himself up. "If I were a coward, my lord, would I be telling you not to kill your tutor?"

The young lord thought about this, chin propped on his hand. "So what you're saying is, this is no longer a request, but an order?"

The redheaded servant clenched his fists and took a deep breath. "Yes, my lord."

There was a long, long silence, and then Richard laughed. "Good for you, Maikos! I didn't know you had it in you!" He stood up and crossed to the servant in three fluid steps and clapped him on the shoulder. His hand lay there heavily, and he leaned down to put his mouth to Maikos's ear. "And if you _ever_ presume to give me an order again, I will murder everyone you know, slowly, while you watch. To say nothing of what I will do to _you._"

Maikos swallowed heavily, sweat beading on his forehead. Richard smiled and tightened his grip on the servant's shoulder.

"Is that understood, Maikos?"

Maikos nodded, shaking uncontrollably. "Yes, my lord." he squeaked. The young lord patted his shoulder and walked back to his suitcase.

"Good. I'm glad we've cleared that up. Do you think one trunk is enough, or should I pack another?"

* * *

><p>Wind blew through the trees, scattering the shadows of their leaves across the ground like flocks of flighty birds. A caravan traveled along a well-worn dirt road through the woods, moving slowly. It was composed of two mule-drawn wagons and four mounted guards, who looked not out at the forest around them, but towards the second wagon.<p>

"Now," came a voice, "in what century did Gamlon fall to the Vulii?"

There was a mumbled reply, and a sharp cracking sound, as of a ruler being brought down hard on someone's head.

Within the second wagon, Richard clutched his head and glared at Professor Sokol, fire in his eyes. The professor was a hawklike man, with a beaky nose and beady eyes, white tufts of hair growing over his ears and nowhere else on his head.

"I will ask again." he said, in his high-pitched whine of a voice. "In what century did Gamlon fall to the Vulii?"

"And I will answer again," Richard growled, still rubbing his head, "the century of your mother is a―_don't you hit me with that again._"

Professor Sokol brought the wooden ruler down anyway on Richard's head with a sharp crack. His eyes were flinty and cold.

"Lord Richard, I do not see how we can make any progress if you refuse to take these lessons seriously. You do not study, you do not even _attempt_ to answer correctly anymore, and you do not pay attention. I am afraid I shall have to resort to drastic measures. I must teach you, whether you wish to learn or not."

"How about this." said Richard, slamming shut the book that lay in front of him. "You _don't_ try to teach me, and I won't try to set you on fire."

Professor Sokol cracked a humorless smile. "Very well. I see you will not be taught by conventional methods. Therefore, if you do not perform acceptably on these little tests, you will not eat."

Richard shot to his feet, almost knocking over the small table in the back of the rocking wagon. The only reason it stayed upright was because his hands were pressed hard against it, charring the wood where they touched it.

"Just _try_ it." he said, smiling sadistically. "Go ahead, see how far you can push me. Because I can guarantee, it's not much farther."

"Sit down." said the professor. "I want a full account of Gamlon's last stand against the Vulii by dinner time, or you will have no dinner. Now, if you will excuse me―"

"I won't."

"I must speak to the guards. Remain here."

The elderly man hopped spryly out of the wagon, leaving Richard there with the smoking table.

"That, er, could have gone better." said Maikos, who had been sitting in the corner. He leapt into the air and shrieked when his sideburns suddenly caught fire.

"That helped." Richard said, sitting back down. "I like that 'on fire' look on you. You should keep it."

Maikos had extinguished his sideburns, but the sour smell of burnt hair still hung inside the wagon. "My lord, perhaps you should take Professor Sokol's lessons into consideration. The worst that can possibly happen if you _cooperate_ with him is that you learn a lot of useless facts. Am I incorrect?"

"Yes, Maikos, you are." Richard snapped. "He'll _always_ find fault with me. That's why my father hired him. I refuse to behave like his _dog_."

"Perhaps you should just _try_ cooperating."

Richard raised an eyebrow and fixed Maikos with a piercing gaze. "'Should?' That sounded an awful lot like an order, Maikos."

The servant swallowed. "What I mean to say, my lord, is that you have not yet . . . ah, tried every approach. Perhaps there is a better one?"

"I'll take that into consideration, thank you."

Silence, of a sort, descended in the wagon. Maikos stared at his hands and Richard stared at the handprints he had burned into the table.

"Life would be a lot simpler if you never had to answer to anyone." Richard said, sighing. "Especially not yourself."

The forest opened up around sunset, showing a plain, two-story country house with three acres of surrounding farmland. The caravan turned off the main road and approached the house by the front drive. As they did so, the front door opened and a tall man stepped outside, head uncovered, dark hair streaked with gray. He walked out to meet the forward guard as they reached the gate.

"I presume you are the convoy from the Ashendale estate?" he said in a deep voice.

The guard on the right dismounted and saluted. "Yes, sir. We come bearing the goodwill of Lord Ashendale, and his son, Richard Clarence Ashendale, who happily accepts your invitation―"

"_Gods damn it!_" someone cried from the second wagon. Professor Sokol stormed out, what little hair he had in disarray. He strode up to the guards, shaking his finger. "You let him get away! I specifically _told_ you he would try to sneak off! You incompetent, foolhardy, dim-witted _peasant!_ He could be anywhere by now!"

"I didn't―"

The dark-haired man at the gate held up a large hand for silence. "Am I to understand," he said softly, "that my daughter's fiancee has run off into the woods rather than be a guest in my house?"

Sokol and the two guards all looked at each other uncomfortably. "It . . . seems that way, yes." said the professor at last. "Sir Dellbridge, please allow me to present my sincerest ―"

Sir Dellbridge shook his head, smiling. "No apologies necessary." he said. "I lived in a cave for three months, trying to avoid my wedding. He'll come back when he gets cold and hungry. Please, come in. You are all my guests, and you will not be neglected because one silly boy got cold feet."

Sokol, and the guards, bowed deeply. "Thank you, sir." said the old professor.

The last guard to enter through the gate paused inside for a moment, turning a gold coin over in his hand. He cast a look back at the forest behind him before locking the gate. Out in the trees, a faint sigh of relief could be heard.

"We're clear, Maikos." Richard said, leaning against the trunk of a tree, running a hand through his short hair. "They won't be looking for us any time soon."

Maikos was turning his hat in his hands, shifty-eyed. "My lord, are you absolutely _certain_ this is the best course of action?"

"No," Richard replied lightly, "but I like it better than the alternative. If you want to bail out now, be my guest."

"And, er, would there be any sort of penalty for my 'bailing out?'"

"Penalty? Yes. Minus ten points to Maikos, for being a coward. You make it sound so _official._" Richard rolled his eyes. "You can leave any time you want. And then, if I ever see you again, I'll make your kidneys into a hat. With flowers. And gold dangly things. Are you starting to see the picture?"

Maikos sighed. "Yes, my lord. While I am free to leave, it would be an extremely poor idea on my part."

Richard patted him on the shoulder heavily. "_Now_ you're starting to get it. Come on, if we start now, we can be two miles away before midnight."

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. Richard jumped like he'd been shot and spun around.

She was head and shoulders shorter than Richard, with silken blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, wearing a red and gold dress that was not made for walks in the woods. Her small feet were bare, and one small hand rested on her hip. She looked him up and down, scathingly.

"You must be Richard." she said.

"Must I?" he replied, backing away. "I don't want to be today."

Maikos coughed. "Lord Richard, this is Catherine Dellbridge."

Richard glared at him. "No, really? I thought she was the queen of Kethenecia."

"Where, exactly, were you going?" the woman demanded, taking a step forward.

"How old are you? Twelve?" Richard said, taking another step back. "You can't be older than sixteen."

"I'm twenty. I look young for my age. Now _where,_ exactly, were you going?"

"Oh, well, _that._" said Richard, a nervous smile scampering across his face. "Would you believe nowhere?"

"No." she said. "But it doesn't matter, because _now_ you're coming back with me, whether you want to or not."

Richard drew himself up to his full height and glared down his nose at her. "And what makes you think you can make me?" he said in his most dangerous voice.

And then Catherine Dellbridge hiked up her skirt, spun on her heel, and delivered such a kick to his jaw that it rattled his brain inside his skull and he crumpled, senseless, to the ground. She looked at Maikos and flashed him a smile. "Of course, you won't tell anyone about that?" she said.

Maikos shook his head, stifling a grin. "Lord Richard can be quite clumsy. It's no surprise he tripped and hurt himself."

"I'm going to kill you," Richard muttered faintly. Catherine bent down and patted him on the cheek gently.

"Of course you are, dear." she said. "Maikos, be a dear and carry him back to the house, would you?" She put a hand to her chest and heaved a dramatic sigh. "I'm scarcely strong enough to carry myself so far."

Maikos let the smile break through. "Oh, of course, madam." He bowed deeply. "It would be my honor." He hefted the dizzy young Richard over his shoulder, carrying him as he would carry a slaughtered hog from market.

"I'm not joking," Richard slurred. "I'm going to kill you, Maikos."

"It will have been worth it." the servant replied, and slapped Richard firmly on the rear.


	3. Chapter 3

Richard put a hand to his bruised cheek, mumbling, and then woke up. Above him was a whitewashed ceiling, streaked with the light of day. He grumbled and threw an arm over his eyes.

"Good morning, my lord." said Maikos, somewhere to his left. "Sir Dellbridge and his daughter are awaiting you in the—"

"What _happened?_" Richard demanded muzzily, stretching. He sat up, squinting at the room around him. There was a large bay window, letting in the sunlight; a woven carpet on the floor; his trunk by the foot of the bed; a desk in the corner, its accompanying chair currently occupied by Maikos.

"Miss Dellbridge, er, she. . . ." The dark eyes turned to him. He swallowed nervously. "She kicked you in the face, my lord."

Richard stared at him, unmoving, and he stared back, shifting in his seat.

"I like her." Richard said abruptly.

Maikos cleared his throat, hiding a smile behind one hand. "Nevertheless, my lord, Miss Dellbridge and her father would like to meet with you as soon as possible. There is . . . business to discuss."

Richard raised an eyebrow, unmoving. "Business?" His voice was flat. Maikos squirmed.

"Yes, my lord. Such as, er, that is to say—"

"Oh, spit it out, already." the young lord insisted. "By the Gods, Maikos, you wouldn't know a coherent sentence if it set your head on fire." He flung the covers off of himself and rolled out of the bed, landing less than gracefully on the carpeted floor. "Really though. The _worst_ that could happen is that I don't kill you."

"How is that worse—?" Maikos began, rising as well.

Richard grinned at him. "You were saying about business?"

"Ah. Yes. Well. Initially Lord Dellbridge wishes to discuss divisions of land holdings."

Rolling his eyes, Richard stretched again before crossing to the foot of his bed and pillaging his trunk. "Maikos," he warned.

The redheaded servant swallowed, turning his floppy hat in his hands. "And, ah, afterwards, he wishes to give you and Miss Dellbridge some time to, er, get acquainted. Alone."

"What are you trying to say, Maikos?" There was a tone of impatience in Richard's voice as he rummaged through his crumpled clothes.

"I mean to say, my lord, that she refuses to let you out of her sight." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "And she wishes you to propose formally."

Richard froze, then slowly clenched one fist. The glass of the window creaked, cracked, and shattered.

"I changed my mind, Maikos." he said, voice low. "I don't like her. At all."

"Yes, my lord." said Maikos, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I thought you might say that."

"Get out."

Maikos got out like his trousers were on fire. It was only after he slammed the door shut behind him that he discovered they actually were.

/

"Richard!" Catherine said delightedly, leaping to her feet. "I'm glad you decided to join us. Sit down, please. How was breakfast?"

Richard glared at her. Her face was round and bright, her blonde hair coaxed into cascading curls. She was wearing white that day.

"Can we get this over with?" he said, scratching the back of his head. A servant pulled out a chair for him across from Lord Dellbridge, bowing as he did so. "How do you do that?" Richard inquired, leaning down to look at him.

The servant's eyes went wide. "D-do what, my lord?"

"Richard, stop it, there's business to be done." said Catherine, pouting. Richard shot a glance at her.

"Remind me when I gave you permission to call me by my first name." he said through clenched teeth.

Her gaze was as ferocious as his. "I'm going to be married to you in six months." she stated. "Get used to it."

They glared at each other for a while, until the servant spontaneously burst into flames and ran screaming from the room. Richard watched him go and sighed.

"Some people just can't handle awkward situations." he said, shaking his head sadly.

Sir Dellbridge stirred at last. "Sit down, Lord Richard. There is business to discuss, and the sooner we get it over with, the better."

Richard spared him a cursory look and said, "Couldn't agree more. Half of everything."

The look on his face was well worth the effort spared to create it. "What?" he said.

"Half of everything." Richard repeated. "Split down the middle. I'll even draw you a line." He picked up a red pencil off the table and slid Sir Dellbridge's map over to himself, then quickly sketched in a thick line dividing the Dellbridge and Ashendale estates neatly in two. "Done. No more business. Can I go now?"

"Lord Richard," said Sir Dellbridge, rising from his seat, "I highly doubt your father will approve of this plan."

"Oh?" said Richard, sticking a finger in his ear. "Then why don't you take it up with him? I'm going out. My work here is done."

"I'll show you the gardens." said Catherine, reaching out to take his arm. "They're quite lovely this time of year."

"Who said you could come?" Richard demanded, shying away from her touch. Her warm look went cold.

"Six months," she warned.

"You'd be surprised what I can accomplish in six _hours_."

"Why don't you show me?"

Richard grinned at her like a mouthful of razors. "Oh, I will. When the time is right."

There was a sigh, and they turned their heads to Sir Dellbridge, who had sunk back into his seat. "I don't care _what_ you do," he said, exasperated, "as long as you don't do it in here."

Catherine looked at Richard, who had brightened considerably. His expression was positively mischievous.

"Duly noted." he said, and left the room as quickly as he could without running. Catherine, whose legs were much shorter, did have to run to keep up.

"The gardens are to the left." she said when she had caught up to him. Without warning, he rounded on her with nothing short of absolute hatred.

"Let me be clear about one thing." he said, leaning down into her face. "I'm not marrying _anyone_. I'm not inheriting my father's estate. I'm not going to be the good little politician everyone wants me to be. And I'm definitely not staying _here._"

She stared critically into his face, unimpressed. "So what _are_ you going to do?"

He straightened up and thought for a moment. "As I see it, I have three options. I can run away into the countryside and never be heard from again; I can slaughter everyone on this little farm, burn down everything between here and my father's estate and then slaughter everyone _there_; or I can kill myself." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Guess which one I prefer."

She smiled sweetly at him. "You prefer option four, which is the one where I don't beat you senseless and you don't make an ass of yourself."

Richard snarled. "If you _touch_ me again I will light your organs on fire and let you burn from the inside out."

Catherine contrived to look concerned. "That's going to make our marriage _very_ complicated."

"I'm not marrying you."

"The hell you're not."

Richard made a face at her and set off in a random direction. She kept up easily.

"Why don't you _try_ acting like a normal person?" she asked. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"I end up marrying _you_." he said. She laughed and linked her arm in his. He scowled. "I'm not joking."

"I know." she replied. "Your stubborn reluctance is making this _so_ much more fun."

"Keep laughing." he said. "While you can."

"At least _try_ to veil your threats a little less thinly." she said, showing some annoyance at last. "It's not even _fun_ when you say it like that."

His eyebrows scrunched together. "Veil my threats? Why would I want to do that?"

Catherine leaned her head against his arm and chuckled. "I'm going to enjoy this." she said.

"You're _evil_." he replied. "And coming from me that means a lot."

They walked in silence for a time, Richard drumming the fingers of his unoccupied hand against his leg. Catherine removed her head from his arm, took a deep breath, and sighed contentedly.

"You know, I've decided. I don't think I want to go into the gardens today. There's some quite nice woods near here."

Richard gave her an inscrutable look. "How near?" he asked.

She smiled up at him mischievously. "Oh, far enough, I assure you. You could get away with just about anything out there and nobody would hear it."

They had stopped walking and were now staring at each other.

Richard's face softened and broke into a charming smile, or at least an approximation of one. His left hand fiddled with air, green sparks hopping silently between his fingertips. "I think I would like to see these woods."

Catherine grinned brightly at him. "Right this way, my lord."

/

The door burst open violently, startling Maikos out of his nap. Graceful hands grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him out of his seat, jerking him up to meet a fearsome, dark-eyed gaze.

"_You have to get me out of here._" said Richard. His hair and clothes were in disarray, and there were dark circles around his eyes.

"Wh-what happened?" Maikos stuttered, feet swinging a few inches off the ground.

"I don't care how you do it, I don't care who I have to spare, I don't care if I have to plant _flowers,_ I have to get out of here."

"My lord, you may be overreacting—" the servant began, before Richard shook him violently.

"_She kissed me, Maikos!_" he snarled into the older man's face, his voice strained.

Maikos dangled in stunned silence. His lips wobbled, then pinched together; his jaw clenched, then his fists; his brows drew together, his face began to turn red.

Richard stared at him in confusion. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded.

Suddenly Maikos burst out laughing; huge belly-laughs that rang in Richard's ears. He dropped his servant and backed away slowly.

"You're sick." Richard said, horror written in his every feature. "You think this is _funny?_"

Maikos slapped his own knee and howled, falling back into his chair, moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. With a look of disgust, Richard fled from the room, leaving Maikos a crumpled, helpless, laughing heap.

/

It began to rain that afternoon; heavy, soaking rain that seeped through everything equally. Richard sat huddled under a tree, soaked to the skin. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his chin rested on one knee as he stared out at nothing, hands wrapped around his own shins. Water dripped on his head and ran down into his eye. He blinked slowly, then rubbed his eye with one hand, like a sleepy child.

Abruptly, he stood, wiping some of the water off his face.

"I need to kill something." he said.

_Why not everything?_ whispered a voice. Richard looked around, startled, but saw only the gloomy woods around him.

"Hello?" he said, venturing further into the forest, turning his head this way and that.

_You are powerful,_ the voice said, _but you could be so much more so._

"While I like your line of thinking," Richard said, lifting a rock and peering under it, "I don't usually hang out with disembodied voices."

_Why be usual? I'm offering you the chance to become the most powerful warlock this universe has ever seen._

"That's very kind of you." He stuck his head into a hollow tree and stared up into the darkness. "Might I ask why?"

_I've been watching you for some time now._

"Creep."

_I've seen your potential. Let me assure you that I love nothing more than to see the innocent slaughtered._

"I think this could be a wonderful partnership." said Richard, who had found a stream and was fishing around in it with his hand. "When do I start?"

_Your first task is to find me,_ said the voice. _If you can't do __that__, I see no reason why I should help you._

Richard straightened up, his face the very picture of determination. "Challenge accepted." he said. "Do you have a name, whispery-voice-guy?"

Whatever it was chuckled. _I have many names, but you may call me . . . Veron._

"Okay, Veron," said Richard, cracking his knuckles, "game on."

/

"Daddy," said Catherine, entering the room uninvited, "have you seen Richard?"

Sir Dellbridge looked up from his papers and scratched his chin, looking at the ceiling. "Not since this morning. Why? Has he gone missing?"

"Quite." she said, sitting down in a huff. Her hair was frizzy from the rain and the hem of her dress was soaked. A small puddle was forming at her feet. "We were just getting acquainted, as you suggested, and then he ran off. I was sure he came back here, but now I can't find him."

Her father smiled and reached across the table, squeezing her shoulder. "Don't fret, my love. I'm sure he'll turn up soon. Have you spoken to Maikos?"

Her fine eyebrows came together in thought. "The sweaty man? No, why?"

Sir Dellbridge smiled, amused. "He's Lord Richard's . . . babysitter. If anyone knows where he's gone, it will be Maikos."

Catherine smiled at her father, hopping to her feet. "Thank you, Daddy. I'll ask him."

"And Catherine," said Sir Dellbridge, very serious, "try not to scare him off again. He needs to trust you."

Catherine's face fell into a scowl. "I know that, Father, thank you very much. _If_ you'll excuse me."

Sir Dellbridge watched her go, and shook his head sadly.

Catherine swept upstairs, leaving a line of droplets after her. She knocked on the wooden door (which now sat slightly crooked on its hinges) and entered without waiting for a response. Maikos jerked awake and cried, "Not my fault!"

Catherine put a hand on her hip and stared at him critically. "What isn't your fault?"

"What? Oh, Miss Dellbridge." he said, rising and wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. "I'm sorry, I thought you were Lord Richard."

"Well, yes, I figured that, but why did you just yell, 'not my fault'?"

"It's, er, a bit of an automatic reaction." he said sheepishly, looking up at the corners of the room. "But never mind that. What can I help you with, Miss Dellbridge?"

"I'm glad you asked. Richard's gone missing."

The corner of Maikos's mouth twitched. "Oh? He tends to do that when it rains. I daresay he'll be back by sundown."

"Is something funny, Maikos?" she asked, peering at him.

"Oh, no, miss." he said, licking his lips and still fighting down a smile. "He came in here earlier in a towering rage, though."

She raised an eyebrow. "I fail to see what's funny about that."

"It was, ahem, what he was enraged about, Miss Dellbridge." Maikos replied, scratching his ear. "It appears you surprised him on your, ah, excursion."

Catherine broke into a grin. "Oh, _I_ see. And he came running here, to you?"

Maikos let himself smile at last. "Yes, indeed. Begging me to get him away from here."

Her smile fell away into concern. "You don't think he's really run away, do you?"

Shrugging, the servant replied, "Probably not. He has a lot of delusions of freedom, but he always comes back, in the end."

"'Delusions of freedom,'" said Catherine, twining a strand of shining hair around her finger. "I like that."

Maikos bowed, then said, "Is there anything else you need, Miss Dellbridge?"

"What? Oh, no. Thank you, Maikos." Then, at his look of shock, "What's that face for?"

"Oh, nothing, miss. It's just been a very long time since anyone thanked me."

A mischievous light came into her eyes. "That can be fixed. Let me know when Richard comes back, will you? He and I need to have a talk."

Maikos bowed again. "Yes, miss. It will be my pleasure."

/

Sir Dellbridge, Maikos, and Catherine sat around the big table, a map of the surrounding countryside spread out around them. A despairingly large circle had been drawn on the map, with its center on the Dellbridge house.

"Do you really think he could have gone that far?" Catherine said, taking her gnawed fingernail out of her mouth.

"It's been two days, my love." said Sir Dellbridge, rubbing his eye. "He could be almost anywhere by now."

"Are you sending a search party?" Maikos asked, looking at the map.

There was a silence. They all looked at each other, at the dark circles under their eyes, the paleness of their lips, their jittering legs or fiddling fingers.

"Please do, Daddy." said Catherine, taking her father's hand. "He could be hurt."

Sir Dellbridge looked to Maikos. "Where would he have gone?"

The servant considered the map again, then pointed to the forest. "Probably here," he said, then slid his finger over to the coast, which was also inside the giant circle. "But it's not unthinkable that he headed to the sea and got on a boat, in which case we'll never find him."

"Why would he go to the forest?" Catherine asked, peering at the map.

"He likes to be alone. He likes the quiet, the dark." Maikos replied. "It . . . helps him think."

Catherine and her father shared a glance, then looked back to Maikos, who nodded decisively. "You should search the forest."

"It's decided." said Sir Dellbridge, standing. "I'll gather the search party and we'll set out on the hour." His gaze softened as it turned to Catherine. "Try to sleep, Catherine. All this worrying is doing none of us any good."

"Yes, Daddy." she said, bowing her head. "I'll try."

Sir Dellbridge gently patted her crown of golden hair, stretched, and strode from the room.

Maikos and Catherine sat in silence. Outside, it began to rain.

"Do you think he's hurt?" Catherine asked, looking up at Maikos with tears in her big blue eyes.

"I . . . well, that is. . . ." Maikos stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. Catherine took his large, calloused hand in her small and dainty ones.

"Please tell me he's all right." she whispered, expression intense and pleading. Her hands shook ever so slightly.

After a moment's hesitation, Maikos clasped her hands firmly and said, "I am _certain_ he'll be just fine."

/

"Sir Dellbridge! Over here! Come quickly!"

Sir Dellbridge ran through the dark and the rain, lantern swinging in his hand, casting madly dancing shadows all about him. The man who had called was kneeling over a crumpled heap on the ground, water dripping from his oilskin cloak.

"What is it?" Sir Dellbridge said, stopping to crouch next to the dark heap. He examined it closely, then drew back in alarm. He flung off his waterproof cloak and wrapped it around the heap, then picked it up as he would a sleeping child. "Get back to the house. Get a hot bath ready, and a change of clothes, and something hot to eat."

The man saluted and ran off, and Sir Dellbridge followed with his heavy burden.

"Ye Gods," he murmured, staring at the death-mask of a face, "he's barely breathing."

Green sparks danced on Sir Dellbridge's cloak for a moment, crackling and flashing before they vanished as abruptly as they had appeared.

The rain stopped abruptly, as though someone had turned off a faucet.

Sir Dellbridge carried the bundle away, but something remained behind, watching.

"He came very close this time."

_He was mere steps away._

"But he will not remember."

_Not consciously. The next time will be the last. Are you prepared?_

"I am. We cannot coddle him forever."

_This is not coddling, as you will soon see. This is the careful and deliberate corruption of a soul._

"May I ask why?"

_It must be so._

"But why him?"

Water dripped from the trees with soft tapping noises, like slippered feet running down an empty hallway.

_I like his sense of humor._

"You are doing your best to beat it out of him."

_An unavoidable side-effect. When you stare into the darkness, it tends to stare back._

There was a quiet whooshing noise, as of a soft wind through long grass, and the presences were gone.

Half a mile away, just inside the threshold of the Dellbridge house, Richard started screaming.


	4. Chapter 4

Sir Dellbridge dropped his burden as though it had burned him. Richard landed on the floor with a heavy thump, struggling against the cloak wound around him, eyes shut tight, screaming as though every demon in the thirteen hells were hot upon his heels. Sir Dellbridge backed away, his face a study in horror—eyes wide, mouth agape, cheeks pale. A servant ran in, took in the scene, and knelt by the still-struggling Richard just as Maikos ran into the room, still in his pajamas.

"Don't touch him!" the red-headed man cried; but too late. The servant had put out a hand to catch Richard's flailing arms, when suddenly _his_ wrist had been grabbed instead. There was a flash of light; a loud, percussive _whoomph_; a wave of heat rolled through the narrow foyer, cracking the paint on the walls. The servant—what was left of him—tumbled to the ground in a mess of ash and bones. Maikos strode purposefully towards the still-screaming lord, when Sir Dellbridge caught him by the arm.

"Are you mad, man? Did you see what he did—"

"I know what I'm doing, sir." Maikos replied, shrugging off Sir Dellbridge's hand. He knelt by Richard, took a deep breath, and slapped the screaming man across the face as hard as he could.

Richard's eyes opened wide and he gasped as though he hadn't breathed in hours. He sat bolt upright, shivering like he'd almost frozen to death, drenched in sweat. His wide eyes turned to the scene around him and he cried out, voice hoarse, backing away from the pile of ashes and bones that had, not too long ago, been a servant. Maikos grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

"Lord Richard." he said, quietly but insistently, "You are not dreaming anymore. They can't get you here."

Richard muttered something incomprehensible, shaking his head slowly, eyes wide and fixed, still trying to back away. Maikos slapped him again and repeated, "You are _not_ dreaming. Look at me, Richard. _Look at me_."

Just then, Catherine entered the room, in nothing but her dressing gown, although she obviously had not slept. She took one look at Richard and ran to his side. He shied away from her, struggling against Maikos's iron grip.

"What happened?" Catherine demanded of Maikos, folding her hands in her lap. Richard stopped trying to get away, but he was still shivering uncontrollably.

"Night terror." Maikos replied, eyes for his master alone. "They happen from time to time. He'll recover."

"Oh, you poor thing." said Catherine, and before anyone could stop her, took Richard into her arms.

"Get _off_ me!" he cried, pushing her away. He got to his feet shakily, with Maikos's help, and then pointed an accusatory finger at the kneeling girl. "You," he said, gasping for air, "You stay away from me."

"Don't worry, my lord," said Maikos, "she won't follow us." He shot a reproachful glare at Catherine, who looked at her hands.

"She's one of _them._" Richard snarled, attempting to wrench his arm from Maikos's grasp and failing. "Look at her, you idiot, just _look_."

Maikos reached up and slapped Richard a third time. The young lord's face went blank, and he blinked three times, staring at the far wall.

"Maikos, did you just slap me?" he asked.

"Yes." Maikos replied. "Come along, Lord Richard. There's a fire going in your room. We'll get you warmed up." He began tugging on Richard's arm, encouraging him towards his room. "You were out in that rain for quite some time. Some hot food and a bath, that's all you need. Come along, now."

Richard shook his head and put his free hand to his cheek. "That really hurt," he grumbled, but followed Maikos up to his room without further resistance.

Catherine looked at her father, and then at the pile of ashes.

"He did this?" she asked eventually.

Sir Dellbridge nodded. "I'm glad I dropped him when I did."

They both stared at the former servant for a moment longer.

"Who was it?" Catherine inquired.

"Jenkins." He shook his head and wiped some of the sweat from his forehead. "The man had a wife and child. I don't know what to tell them."

Catherine stood and walked to her father, embracing him. "Not tonight, Daddy. Get some rest. We all need it."

He patted her on the head. "My love, if you can sleep soundly after that episode, you are the envy of my life."

* * *

><p>"How long was I gone?" Richard asked, toweling his short hair. He was significantly cleaner than he had been, although he was still pale and gaunt.<p>

"Two days, my lord." Maikos replied, handing his master a bathrobe. "That's why I sent the search party."

Richard sighed, shrugging on the robe and tying it tightly at the waist. "That's longer than usual, isn't it." He eased himself into an armchair by the fire and propped up his feet.

"Yes, my lord. A full day longer, in this—"

Suddenly Richard jumped up with a yell, falling over the armchair in his haste to get away. Maikos was at his side in an instant.

"They're _not here._" he said, taking hold of Richard's shoulders and pulling him to his feet.

"Oh, get off me." Richard said, brushing away Maikos's hands. "I burned my foot. I don't think the crazy here has infected me just yet."

"Apologies, my lord." Maikos said, bowing. Richard waved a hand, settling into the chair again.

"Think nothing of it. You're only doing your job." He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's going to be a long night, isn't it, Maikos?" he said, fatigue evident in his voice. "A long, sleepless, _boring_ night."

"Most likely." the servant replied, seating himself in the chair by the writing desk. "Would you like me to retrieve your books?"

Richard scoffed at him. "I'm not _that_ desperate, Maikos."

"I know, my lord. I wouldn't have sat down, otherwise."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Richard cracked a smile. "For someone who's not on fire, you're pretty funny."

Maikos smiled warily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Er, thank you, my lord. I try."

"Which is not to say you wouldn't be more amusing if you were on fire. You would be."

"Of course, my lord."

"I just don't feel like bothering."

"A pity, my lord."

Richard let his head fall back to rest on the chair. "Careful, Maikos, you sound almost disappointed."

"Not at all, my lord."

"And you don't have to end _every sentence_ with 'my lord.' It gets repetitive."

"So I had noticed."

"Better. How long ago was sunset?"

Maikos looked up at the lefthand corner of the room, scratching his chin. "No more than four hours ago. No less than three."

"Oh _Gods,_" said Richard, flinging his hands up towards the heavens. "You may as well fetch the books, Maikos. Unless something small and fuzzy turns up, I'm going to die of boredom before sunrise." He held up a premonitory hand and continued, "No, don't. I think I would _rather_ die of boredom."

"My lord, what harm could it do to apply yourself, ever so slightly, to these studies?" Maikos demanded.

"That's got to be the fiftieth time you've asked me that."

Maikos swallowed and wiped his brow. "Be that as it may, my lord—"

"Do you really think my answer has changed at all?"

"I live in hope—"

"Do you think asking over and over will eventually change my mind?"

Maikos sighed. "No."

"So why, Maikos, do you insist on asking the same question _four times a day?_ Because I personally can't think of any other reasons."

"I'm attempting to look out for your well-being." Maikos snapped. "And you refuse to let me."

"And you think this drivel I'm forced to memorize is in my best interest?"

"No. I think being hit over the head with a ruler four times a day can't be good for you."

"There are other ways to fix that problem."

"Oh? Do enlighten me, my lord."

"When was the last time you saw Professor Sokol?"

The fire crackled gently, a quiet roll of thunder tumbled in through the window. A gust of wind blew the rain against the glass with a sharp series of rapping sounds.

"What did you do?" Maikos asked softly.

"It's not your place to ask."

"Lord Richard, I mean it. If anything has happened to him—"

"Who said anything had happened to him? You're so melodramatic, Maikos. Calm down."

"Just tell me where he is."

"No need to get bossy about it. _I_ don't know. Why should _I_ know where he is? I was just asking when the last time you saw him was. Which you still haven't answered, by the way."

Maikos took a deep breath. "I last saw him three days ago, when we first got here. No one has mentioned or seen him since."

"Interesting. I wonder where he went." He sat up straight and looked over the back of his chair. "Do you think he might have been eaten by bears?"

Maikos picked at his fingernails. "Er, _are_ there bears in this part of the world?"

"Oh." Richard said, sagging. "I guess that was too much to hope for. What about weasels? Could he have been eaten by weasels?"

"It's . . . not impossible, my lord."

"Oh well. When we get back, remind me I have a promise to keep."

"Promise, my lord?"

"Yes." Richard grinned. "You gave me an order, Maikos. And you remember what I told you about giving me orders."

Maikos went very pale. "My lord, I didn't mean—" he gasped, rising from his chair.

"Oh, sit down. Much as I love long apologies, I'm really not in the mood for your grovelling tonight. Go find me something small and fuzzy and we'll call it even if you're back within the hour."

The red-headed servant bowed, dripping sweat onto the carpet, and ran from the room as fast as his bare feet would carry him.

Richard chuckled to himself, then glanced at the door as the smile slowly slid from his face. A few moments passed in silence, before he pulled his knees up to his chest and stared into the fire, expression haunted.

"Hurry back," he whispered; and shadows gathered like dust in the corners of the room.

* * *

><p>The door creaked open, slowly, although Richard was out of his chair and facing it with a red-hot fire poker in his hand before it had budged more than an inch.<p>

"That was quick," he said sarcastically, raising the poker as the door opened the rest of the way.

"Was it?" said Catherine, stepping into his room. "I had to wait until I was sure my father wouldn't catch me. It's been at least an hour and a half."

"What are _you_ doing here?" Richard demanded, pointing at her with the smoking poker.

"I came to see if you were all right." she said. "Which, evidently, you're not."

"Get out." he snarled. The end of the poker began to turn red again.

"You killed one of my servants." Catherine snapped, taking a step forward. "And I need to know if you're going to do it again."

"I have better people to kill than your peons." Richard said. The glowing point of the poker sketched figure eights in the air. "Now get out of here."

"Would you put that thing down? You're not fooling anyone." Catherine said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Get _out!_" Richard cried, and flung the poker right through her chest.

"Gods almighty!" Catherine cried, leaping to the right. The poker slid sideways through her ribcage, unmoving as she moved out from under it. "You could have killed me!"

Richard stood and trembled, fists clenched, eyes cast down. "If you do not get out of this room _this second,_ Catherine," he began.

"Don't bother with threats. I'm going." she said, wounded. "Sorry for being concerned, _Dick_."

The door slammed shut behind her of its own accord. Just to the right of it, the still smoking tip of the fire poker protruded from the wall. Catherine stared at it for a moment, glanced back at the closed door, then ran off down the hallway.

* * *

><p>When Maikos returned, Richard was leaning on the windowsill, shoulders hunched, looking like some enormous bird of prey. He remained motionless even when Maikos closed the door with a loud click and cleared his throat.<p>

"My lord?" he said.

"Did you bring me anything?" Richard asked tonelessly.

"Just this, my lord." said Maikos, holding up one of the foul-smelling, battle-hardened cats from the stables. "It's hardly fuzzy, but it's small, and has fur." Then, when Richard did not turn around, "It scratched me a lot on the way here."

"Throw it in the fire." said Richard.

Maikos took a step back. The cat, dangling by the scruff of its neck, yowled and extended its claws. "What, my lord?"

"I said, throw it in the fire. It's the cat or you, Maikos."

"But, my lord, don't you want—"

This was the wrong answer. Richard rounded on him, dark circles already forming under his eyes. "I _know_ what I want, Maikos! Don't you _dare_ question me. Throw the godsdamned cat in the fire or I'll kill you. Now."

It was then that Maikos noticed the poker sticking out of the wall, a long length of iron suspended horizontally just below head-height.

"Did you have a visitor?" he asked, touching the poker with the hand that wasn't holding the cat.

"What do you think? And quit stalling."

"As you wish, my lord." said Maikos. He approached the fire slowly, steps hesitant. The cat yowled again and twitched in his grip, yellow eyes rolling in their sockets. Maikos held the cat out at arm's length and took a deep breath.

"Don't you dare apologize to that cat, Maikos." Richard warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it, my lord." said Maikos, looking miserably tormented. The cat stared at him, accusing. Maikos sighed, clenched his teeth, shut his eyes, and flung the cat into the fireplace. It screamed as its fur caught fire, scrambling out of the ashes, scattering coals across the carpet, tearing around madly as it slowly burned up. Richard laughed like a golden bell.

"The best part is the look on your face!" he gasped, before collapsing again into helpless laughter. The cat was running headfirst into furniture, stumbling as its fur burned down, still screaming. Maikos swallowed hard, going green around the gills.

"Just doing my job." he muttered to himself, still and stiff as a statue. Richard sat on the windowsill and wiped his eyes.

"That was worth the wait. Is it dead yet? No?" Richard lunged forward and grabbed the smoldering, mewling cat. He turned and pushed open the window. "Banzai!" he cried, and threw the cat with all his strength, then watched it arc downwards towards the earth. "Be honest, Maikos, I should have been a pitcher. Have you ever seen anyone throw a cat that far? Had to have been three hundred feet." He sighed contentedly and turned back around. "Did you have something you wanted to ask?"

Maikos wiped his face with one hand, eyes still closed tightly, face still mildly green. "I was wondering, my lord, why there is a fire-poker stuck in the wall."

"Oh _that_." said Richard. "Catherine came by."

"You threw it at her?"

"Can't think why I missed."

"My lord, it doesn't seem prudent to throw large iron spikes at your fiancee."

"Prudent? I'll tell you what's not prudent. Trying to make me marry anyone isn't _prudent_, and if they don't quit, everyone's going to pay for it."

"Lord Richard, this is what your mother wants for you." Maikos said, sinking into a chair, hands trembling. He clasped them together and swallowed hard again.

"It is not. It's what my father tricked her into thinking she wants for me. She wouldn't do this to me."

"Have you talked to her about it? Do you know for certain that this wasn't her idea?"

"I don't need to. I know her. She wouldn't do this."

"She talks about grandchildren quite a lot."

"She's teasing. Besides, Maikos, can you imagine _my_ children?"

Maikos paled. "I would prefer not to try, my lord."

Richard laughed. "See? I prefer not to try, either. No one wants to try. Because it's stupid."

"And terrifying."

"And terrifying. The only ones who aren't in on the joke are my father and that stupid Dellbridge girl." His voice lost all semblance of levity and dropped to a growl. His fists clenched. "She called me _Dick._"

"In that case, I'm surprised the worst you attempted was throwing a steel spike at her head."

"Are you patronizing me, Maikos?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, my lord."

"I'm sure you dream of it every night, Maikos."

"I wouldn't if I had a choice in the matter, my lord."

"You insufferable kiss-ass." Richard said. "Make yourself useful and don't let Catherine sleep."

Maikos looked shocked. "Why, my lord?"

"Are you questioning me? You do what I tell you to, when I tell you to. I haven't forgotten about that little order you let slip."

"My lord, I just don't see what it will accomplish."

"Accomplish? I'm not trying to _accomplish_ anything. I just want to annoy the hell out of her so she'll leave me _oh holy gods what the hell is that?_"

Maikos managed to catch Richard before he backed out of the window, staring at the door opposite him with unmitigated terror. "What in the thirteen hells _is_ that? Let go of me! Let _go_ of me, I said!"

"There is nothing there, Lord Richard." Maikos said quietly.

"You're not even looking, you idiot!" Richard cried, dragging himself and Maikos closer to the window ledge. He pointed one trembling finger, held out at arm's length. "Look at it!"

Maikos, obligingly, turned and looked. He saw the door, the shadow of the armchair, the fire-poker sticking out of the wall, the glowing coals huddled on the carpet where the burning cat had scattered them. "There's nothing there." Maikos repeated. "Let's move away from the window, shall we?"

"Maikos!" Richard screamed as the servant pulled him away from the window. "Maikos, it's getting closer! Let go of me! _Maikos, let go of me!_"

The servant stolidly dragged Richard kicking and screaming into the armchair, where he sat him down and slapped him across the face again. His hand came away burned.

"Richard, there is nothing there. Breathe."

"It's coming for me." Richard whispered, eyes wide, breathing quick and shallow. "They're coming for me."

"No, they are not." said Maikos. "And if you don't stop this, I'm bringing your books up here."

Suddenly Richard's hands were clenched so tightly around Maikos's wrists that no blood could flow into his hands. The wide eyes stared into Maikos's, haunted and bloodshot.

"Don't leave me alone, Maikos." Richard said. "For the Gods' sakes, don't leave me alone."

Maikos nodded, kneeling at his master's feet. "I won't, Lord Richard." he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

A single tear crawled out of Richard's left eye and rolled down his pale cheek. "I don't want to do this anymore." he whispered, shivering like a dish rack in an earthquake.

"They cannot hurt you." Maikos insisted.

But just at that moment, blood began to seep out from beneath Richard's fingernails.


	5. Chapter 5

The sunlight was bright and golden as it streamed down onto the vivid green grass around the Dellbridge house. Flocks of birds flew southward across the vivid blue sky and a cool breeze swept down from the mountains. The house stood under a clump of gold-leaved trees, basking in the shade, a curl of smoke rising from its chimney.

"Four days." said Richard. The window was open and he was leaning out of it. "That's not so long, is it?"

"It has been some time, my lord." said Maikos, somewhere behind him.

"It's not so bad when you get used to it, but I'm wondering when the hallucinations will start."

"Hallucinations, my lord?"

"How many times do I have to tell you? After three days without sleep—"

There was a knock on the door.

"What do you want?" Richard called.

"It's Maikos, my lord." came the servant's voice, muffled. "May I enter?"

"What?" said Richard, turning around. The room was empty. "Oh. I thought you already . . . never mind, come in."

Maikos entered and shut the door quietly behind him. "Hallucinations, my lord?" he asked.

"I would assume so, unless you were in here five seconds ago." Maikos shook his head, and Richard sat himself down on the windowsill, drooping with exhaustion. "I suppose this means I'll have to sleep."

"It seems prudent, my lord." said Maikos. "But otherwise, everything is . . . normal?"

"Normal? Gods forbid my life should ever be _normal_."

"I meant, are you having no other side-effects?"

"What? Oh. No. Is there a bird in here?"

Maikos looked around. "No, my lord."

"I didn't really think so. I've never seen a bird that was just a skeleton before."

Maikos raised his eyebrows and scratched the back of his head. Richard was watching the invisible bird fly about the room, rapt with attention like a cat watching its prey. "Nor have I."

"Although it would be funny." Richard paused, staring at one spot on the ceiling. "I'm tired." he said.

"I was about to suggest that you sleep now." Maikos said.

"Sleep? I'm not sleepy. Just tired."

"How are your fingers?" the servant asked, turning his hat in his hands. Richard, with a look of happy realization, looked down at his fingers.

"Oh, right, hands! Fine, I guess." he said, turning his hands this way and that. "They stopped bleeding, anyway. Why did you come up here?"

Maikos, blinking, took a moment to reply. "Oh. Catherine wishes to speak to you."

Richard sighed and tilted his head back, balancing precariously on the windowsill. "Doesn't she always. Did you do what I told you?"

"Yes, my lord, but she didn't believe the part about the weasels."

"_What?_ That's the only part that's true!" He hopped off the windowsill and walked in a less than straight line to the armchair, in which he collapsed sideways, one leg slung over the arm. "I really hate her. I want to stab her. Can I stab her, Maikos?"

Maikos coughed, looking away. "I highly doubt that would improve the situation at all."

"Hm. Maybe you're right. Stabbing is too quick. What do you say to . . . to. . . ." Mid-sentence, he yawned enormously. "Great, I forgot what I was going to say. Hey, Maikos, want to know something funny? I can't open my eyes." Suddenly he went completely limp, and a few moments later began to snore.

Maikos stood less than easily, leaning on his knees to push himself up. He popped his back and walked over to Richard, hefting him out of the chair and carrying him to the bed, where he placed him carefully. Then, scratching his wiry sideburns, he pulled his chair to Richard's bedside, sat, and waited.

* * *

><p>Catherine was walking alone down the hallway when she was intercepted by Maikos, who bowed low, hat clutched to his chest.<p>

"Miss Dellbridge," he said, "I'm afraid I must ask you for a favor."

She put a hand on her hip and stared critically at the servant. "Is this along the same lines as the last one? Because I really think he can do better than _weasels._"

"No, Miss Dellbridge." Maikos said, wringing his hands. "This is a request from me, personally."

Her face softened. "What is it? I'll see what I can do."

"It is a little much to ask, and I hate to ask it, but I feel I must."

"Just ask, Maikos. What's the worst that could happen?"

Maikos flinched and shivered. "I don't like that expression."

"Forget about it, then." flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Ask your favor."

"Miss Dellbridge, Richard hasn't slept in four days. He's been hallucinating. He finally dropped off about an hour ago. But I haven't slept much over these past days, either."

"And you're not as young as you used to be. Would you like me to watch over him?"

Maikos sagged with relief. "Will you? I'm not sure how long I can keep this up."

Catherine grinned at him. "I would be happy to, Maikos. Anyway, in six months, it will be my job, and not yours. Does this happen often?"

The red-headed servant shook his head. "Thank the Gods, no. The last time this happened was, oh, four years ago."

"Walk with me." Catherine said abruptly. "Dinner's already on the table, I'm sure, and my father doesn't like for me to be late. Is there anything in particular I need to know about his . . . episodes?"

Maikos nodded emphatically. "He requires . . . strong encouragement to wake up. His dreams are powerful things."

"And if I don't hit him hard enough?"

"You saw what happened to, er. . . ."

"Jenkins. Yes. It was impossible to miss."

"That's the only really important thing. You will have to remind him he's not dreaming."

"Do I get to hit him multiple times?"

"Probably."

"Although it is a strenuous and dangerous job, I feel I am obligated to accept."

They looked at each other for a moment, standing on the threshold of the dining room.

"How badly do you want to slap him?" Maikos asked.

"Pretty badly." she replied, with a grin. "I thought that first kick to the face would be the only chance I got."

"Believe me, it's worth most of the sleepless nights that follow." said Maikos, and opened the door for Catherine.

"And they say chivalry is dead." she said, curtsying to Maikos.

"Not while I'm alive, Miss Dellbridge. After you."

* * *

><p>It was dark, in the way that all empty places are dark; and empty, in the way that all dark places are empty. Richard stood on a precipice, alone in that darkness, and suddenly felt that he was not alone anymore.<p>

"I know you're there." he said. His voice sounded as though it came from far away. "Turn the lights on while you're over there, will you?"

_You cannot run forever, Richard Ashendale._

"I'm not trying to." he replied, unmoving; but the darkness moved around him, and two pale blue lights hung before his face, illuminating nothing. "Didn't you like the presents? I know I haven't sent as many recently, but everyone gets caught up in other business."

_I don't._ The voice came from everywhere at once, but the blue lights bobbed as it spoke. _And I don't like your presents._

"Well, they weren't for you, anyway." Richard replied, crossing his arms and turning his back; but the blue lights were already waiting behind him. He paused a moment to take in his surroundings, and then said, "I'm dreaming, aren't I."

_Yes. But do not write me off as some invention of your own subconscious_.

"That's just what you would say if you were an invention of my subconscious. Tell me who you are, and maybe I'll believe you."

_You will find out quite soon who I am._ The two blue lights began to recede into the darkness. _And now, Richard Ashendale, I leave you to the mercy of your own mind._

"My mind has no mercy." Richard snapped, but just then the darkness dissolved.

* * *

><p>He skidded to a halt, teetering precariously on the edge of a cliff whose base was lost in darkness, arms pinwheeling. His breath came fast and the world was obscured by a gray haze that swam before his eyes. He turned, facing the things that chased him; the blood drained from his face, the gray haze darkened, the monstrous figures charging through it, roaring and howling with voices so terrible they made his ears bleed. To look upon them was to invite madness. He turned and threw himself off the cliff, but before he even began to fall something grabbed him around the chest and cracked his ribs with the force of its grip. He cried out in pain, in terror, as the thing drew him up to its terrible face. He struggled, and it squeezed harder, shattering his ribs into hundreds of pieces; he screamed, and something struck him across the face like a whip. Fire burst out around him in a liquid wave, washing over him and the creature alike, but the thing didn't let him go, just roared in his face again and squeezed harder, and he whimpered and gasped as blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. He was struck across the face again, and for a moment the gray and red haze of exhaustion and pain lifted, and he saw the monster's face clearly; it was pale and rounded, surrounded by a halo of golden curls, blue eyes fierce under fine eyebrows.<p>

"_Richard!_" Catherine cried, striking him across the face for the third time. "Wake up!"

Richard screamed and pushed himself away from her, falling off the bed with a loud thump, then crawling backwards away from her, crying out incoherently. She vaulted over the bed, landed in a crouch right in front of him, and seized him by the shoulders.

"You are not dreaming." she said. "Look at me, Richard. You are not—ow!" She jerked her hands away, smoke rising from her palms, and Richard leapt to his feet, stumbling over himself as he fled for the door. Catherine was on him in a moment, pinning him to the wall. He was trembling, his eyes wide and crazed, breathing shallow.

"You're awake. Everything's going to be okay." Catherine said. "You're safe now." He focused on her face, still fighting to catch his breath, and leaned back against the wall, swallowing heavily. Catherine smiled encouragingly. "That's it."

Suddenly he grabbed her around the middle, almost knocking the breath out of her, his head resting on her breast, his body wracked with sobs. Catherine sat slowly, guiding him to the floor, then cradled him in her arms as she would a frightened child. "There, there." she said, stroking his hair. "I'm here."

"Mama," Richard whispered, choked with tears, squeezing Catherine tightly.

She held him as he cried, a sad smile gracing her lips. "Oh, ye of little faith." she muttered to herself, and sighed.

Not long after, there was a gentle knock on the door, and someone pushed it open slowly.

"Hello, Maikos." said Catherine. "Keep quiet, he's just fallen asleep."

Maikos entered and closed the door behind himself, then crossed with light footsteps to Catherine's side. "I heard the screaming." he said, sitting down creakily. "Are you all right?"

"Me? Fine. My hands are a little burned, but it'll heal."

Maikos peered at Richard, who was still cradled in Catherine's arms, his breathing slow and regular. "Is he asleep?" Maikos asked incredulously.

"Yes. That's what I said when you came in."

"That hasn't happened since he was four years old." Maikos told her. "That was when his father started locking the door to his and Lady Ashendale's room."

"That's cruel." said Catherine, her face darkening. "Did he expect that to _help?_"

"I think he expected it to prevent Lord Richard from waking them up in the middle of the night." Maikos replied, scratching his ear. "At first it didn't work, and when Lord Richard tore off his fingernails scratching at their door, Lord Ashendale almost gave in. Then they realized they could have _me_ take care of him, and that seemed to settle the issue."

Catherine absently stroked Richard's head, staring off into space. "I can't imagine." she said, shaking her head. "Being so young, and so scared, and your parents refusing to help you."

"Not his parents." Maikos interrupted. "Just his father. It broke his poor mother's heart."

"He called out for her." Catherine said. "I think he thought I was her."

The red-headed servant nodded sagely. "There are two things Richard actually loves in this world, and his mother is one of them."

Almost imperceptibly, Catherine's eyes narrowed, and she smiled a little smile. "What's the other?"

Maikos rolled his eyes. "Killing things."

* * *

><p>"Ah! Maikos, just the man I wanted to see."<p>

Maikos bowed deeply as Sir Dellbridge approached. He was dressed for the road, and was carrying an armful of papers. "Good morning, sir. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes, yes, enough with the pleasantries. I've received word today from Lord Ashendale that I'm needed at his estate to discuss business in person. Apparently he has decided to take the decision-making into his own hands."

"As expected." Maikos drawled.

"Ha! Yes, quite. At any rate, I must be there as soon as I possibly can be, which means I must be leaving, oh, five minutes ago. Walk with me. You don't mind telling Catherine where I've gone, do you? She will worry so, and I don't have time to go hunting all over for her. Oh, and tell Lord Richard, too, would you?"

"Certainly, sir." said Maikos, as they emerged into the sunlight. "May I ask why it is so urgent, if you are merely discussing land divisions?"

"Oh, Gods only know, Maikos, I'm just relaying what the letter said. Here's my coach, I must be off. Take care of things while I'm gone, will you?"

"Of course, sir." said Maikos, and bowed; but Sir Dellbridge was already rushing away towards his coach, every so often stooping to pick up a paper he had dropped.

"Where's _he_ going?" came a familiar voice from just over his right shoulder. Maikos jumped and spun around, seeing Richard standing just behind him, scowling.

"He's off to the Ashendale estate, my lord." said Maikos. "Business."

"So my father's finally decided to handle it himself? Good." He turned and began walking back towards the house. "I need to talk to you, Maikos."

"About what, my lord?"

"Professor Sokol. It's not that I'm disappointed he's vanished, I'd just like to know who killed him so I can shake their hand."

Maikos caught up to him, a little out of breath. "My lord, we don't know for certain that he's dead."

"Shut _up_, Maikos, you'll ruin it!" Richard cried, pressing a finger to his servant's lips. "And anyway, _I'm_ pretty sure he's dead."

"You found something, my lord?"

"Yes. And then I set it on fire, just to be sure. But I think it was the old professor. Sure _smelled_ like the old professor."

Maikos put his hands on his hips and stood in Richard's path. "Richard, did you just kill your professor?"

"'Just?' No, I didn't _just_ kill him. The fire burned out, oh, half an hour ago. Move, Maikos, you're in the way." Richard brushed him aside casually and strolled on.

"Where's the body, Richard?" Maikos asked, shoulders slumped.

"Body?" Richard said incredulously, giving Maikos a look. "Why in the Gods' names would I leave a body?"

"Er, charred pile of bones and organs?"

"Oh, right, I forgot to mention. I set him on fire again once the first fire burned out."

Maikos ran a hand down his face and sighed. "Is there _anything_ left of what may or may not have been Professor Sokol?"

Richard thought about this. "Maybe you should just see for yourself." he said, and smiled. Maikos swallowed and turned a bit green.

* * *

><p>"Makes a great hat, don't you think?" Richard said, posing. "I think it suits me."<p>

"Lord Richard, stop that!" Maikos cried. "Your mother did not raise you to desecrate remains!"

"Not true." Richard replied, wagging a finger in Maikos's face. "It all depends on whose remains they are. And was that an _order_ you just gave me?"

"Erm." said Maikos, turning pale.

"I got you a hat, too." said Richard, beaming, holding out something in both hands.

"How, er, nice." said Maikos, taking the proffered object while trying not to touch it at all. "It's a kidney."

"I managed to save one before the fire." said Richard, taking off his skull-hat and contemplating it. "I saw no reason to let it go to waste."

Maikos regarded the charred circle on the ground where a few smoldering bones still lay. "My lord, have you considered the possibility that it _wasn't_ Professor Sokol?"

"Yes." said Richard, eyes narrowing. "What about it?"

"If it wasn't the professor, who was it?"

"Who cares?" said Richard, tossing the skull over his shoulder. "As long as no one comes looking for them, I don't see how it matters."

* * *

><p>"Are we all here?"<p>

Four shadowy figures sat around a table. There were no lights in the room, the only illumination coming in through the high windows.

"I believe so." replied a second figure, his voice scratchy and dry as old books. "What is to be done?"

"I don't see what _can_ be done." answered a third. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned his chin on his hands. The light barely illuminated his face, but it was enough to reveal him as Sir Dellbridge. "No one can get close enough to him."

"You said he vanished for several days." the first pointed out in his deep voice. "Has he begun having nightmares?"

Sir Dellbridge nodded. "Frequently. If he sleeps, he dreams. If he dreams, he wakes screaming. He's already killed one of my servants."

"This cannot be allowed to continue." said the second. "Something must be done."

"And soon." said the first. "He is at his weakest now. He has obtained power and does not know how to control it."

Sir Dellbridge cleared his throat. "Perhaps it was premature to say no one could get close to him. I believe I know of one person who already is."

The first figure stiffened. "That is going too far, my good sir."

"In every war, there will be innocents taken." said the second, aloof. "If it is the only way, then it must be done."

"I will not allow it!" the first cried, bringing his fist down upon the table. "There are limits to my devotion to this cause."

"My lord, please listen. With her cooperation—"

"Cooperation? She would never agree to this. He's her _son_, for the Gods' sakes."

"Very well." said the second, waving a nonchalant hand. "Then we will use her without her cooperation."

All three turned to look at the fourth, who had been silent thus far. Three green circles glowed from the darkness where the figure's head would be. The head bowed.

"If it must be done, do it." the figure said. "There are greater things at stake here than the life of a single being."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Sorry this one's a little shorter than usual- I figured everyone would prefer on-time quality to late quantity. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Psst! Maikos! Wake up!" The voice came through the darkness, and then something prodded him in the shoulder. "Come on, Maikos!"<p>

Maikos turned over, rising from the depths of sleep, mumbling to himself. "But I wanna sleep. . . ." he said.

"Never mind that. Do you know what I just did, Maikos?" The tone of excitement was unmistakeable. Maikos sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"No, Lord Richard. What did you just do?"

"I just _didn't_ have a nightmare." Richard said, beaming. "I woke up all on my own. I think I'm done with them!"

"Hooray," said Maikos, and laid back down.

"That's all you have to say?" said Richard, one eyebrow twitching. "Just 'hooray?' Is that your final answer?"

"My lord, neither of us has been sleeping well." said Maikos, voice muffled by his pillow. "If you are no longer having nightmares, perhaps you should capitalize on that fact."

A pillow hit him in the back of the head. "You're no fun." Richard whispered. Bare feet padded across the hardwood floor. "I'm celebrating. If Catherine comes looking for me—"

"Throw her out the window." Maikos completed.

Richard paused in the doorway. "If you actually do, Maikos, I will love you forever."

He was answered by snores.

"You're no fun." he said again, and closed the door behind him.

The hallways were quiet and empty as he traversed them. He paused before a painting of a man who closely resembled Sir Dellbridge. He set a corner of the painting on fire and moved on.

He crept to the back door, jiggling the lock in just the right way so it wouldn't squeak when he pulled the bolt out, then pushing upwards on the door as he opened it so the hinges wouldn't creak.

"Hello." said someone. Richard fell over backwards, landing on his backside with a thump.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded, picking himself back up.

"I could ask the same of you." said Catherine, standing in the doorway. She flicked her hair over her shoulder. "It's the middle of the night."

"If anyone has reason to go wandering in the middle of the night, it's me." Richard replied, stepping up to the threshold. "You need your _beauty rest._"

Catherine laughed. "That's rich. Seriously, what are you doing?"

Richard crossed his arms. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"I'm making it my business. Either you tell me what you're doing, or I won't let you out this door."

Richard thought for a moment, inspecting the ceiling. "What if I just show you?" he said at last. "It's not as fun if I explain."

Shaking her head, Catherine replied, "I'm not stupid, Dick."

"Don't _call_ me that." Richard said, pointing a threatening finger at her. "I could kill you in the blink of an eye."

"So why don't you?" she asked, head tilted to one side, moonlight reflecting off her golden hair.

Richard looked away and swallowed. "I don't feel like it." he answered quietly.

"You _like_ me!" Catherine cried, clapping her hands together. "You really _like_ me!"

"Shut up and follow me." Richard grumbled, brushing past her out the door. "I'm only keeping you around because I want to see your face when you see this."

"When I see what?" she said, taking his arm. "Is this about your magic?"

Richard smirked, regarding her from the corners of his eyes. "If I'm doing it, _Kitty_, it's about my magic."

* * *

><p>"Richard, how much farther? I'm tired." Catherine said, dragging on his arm. He yanked on her, almost running her into the nearest tree. The path they traveled was narrow, scarcely more than a dirt line winding through the thick tree trunks. Barely any light filtered down through the thinning canopy, and their breath clouded in the air before them.<p>

"Maybe you should have stayed in bed." Richard replied. "Nobody asked you to come."

"We've been walking for _hours_." she continued, stopping entirely. "I'm tired of this."

Richard sighed and rolled his eyes. "Look, I know what I'm doing. Trees aren't as soundproof as you think they are."

"Why do you care about soundproofing?" Catherine demanded, eyes narrowing. "We're in the middle of nowhere. No one can hear a thing."

"_Fine_." said Richard, and sat down on the spot. "And for the record, I _love_ saying, 'I told you so,' and I'll take every opportunity to do it."

Catherine lowered herself to the ground, back against a tree. "Just do your thing."

Richard closed his eyes and put his fingertips together, and held perfectly still for the space of three deep breaths.

"Richard?" Catherine said, reaching out a hand.

"Shut _up_." Richard snapped. "Now I have to start over."

There was more silence, more stillness than a person should be capable of. And then there was a rustle above them, and a drowsy-looking bird fluttered down from the canopy and landed on Richard's outstretched hand, perching on his finger.

"Oh, wow." said Catherine, "That's—"

The bird burst into flame. Catherine cried out and fell back against the tree, while the bird screamed bloody murder and took to the air, its feathers chafing off like ashen snow; it flew in circles, screeching as its feathers burned away. Richard laughed.

"Look at it go!" he said, holding his stomach. "Just around and around!"

"Stop it!" Catherine cried. "You're killing it!"

Richard just laughed harder. Eventually the bird dropped from the sky, leaving a smoky trail behind it. It tweeted weakly when it was on the ground, and Richard scooped it up in one hand.

"Ooh, hah, hot!" he said, juggling the charred bird from hand to hand. "Okay, this is where it gets tricky."

Holding the bird in one hand, he drew a line from just beneath its beak down to the nub of its tail. There was a soft hissing sound as he did so, and the bird's body split and fell away, and its skeleton extracted itself from the ruins of the flesh. It hopped up and perched on Richard's finger, staring at him critically out of empty eye sockets.

"Hello there," Richard breathed, "let's see what you can do."

He threw the skeleton-bird into the air, then immediately crossed his fingers and bit his lip, jittering with anticipation. The bird beat its wings once, twice. . . . And dropped out of the sky like a rock, its fragile bones scattering in all directions.

"Not _again!_" Richard cried, punching the ground. "This always happens! They're so _stubborn._"

He finally looked at Catherine, who was huddled against the base of her tree, eyes wide and glimmering with tears, delicate hands covering her mouth, knees drawn up to her chest. Richard laughed again.

"That's the look I was waiting for." he said, grinning, framing her face with his hands. "Just hold it like that for a second, this is a Kodak moment."

"You _monster._" Catherine whispered, wide eyes turning to Richard. "How could you do a thing like this?"

"You can do better." Richard admonished. "_Everyone_ says that. At least try to be original. No constructive criticism? No congratulations on how well I managed to control the lifeless skeleton of a bird? No apology? No regret? Just, 'you're a monster, Richard. Your magic is bad and you should feel bad.'"

Catherine sprung forward and punched him as hard as she could in the face. "You evil _wretch!_" she cried, pummeling him with blows. "You think this is _funny?_"

Suddenly she found herself unable to move, and Richard was sitting up, pushing her back with one finger.

"I could kill you, right now." he said, scratching his chin. "If no one heard the racket you were making just now, no one will hear you beg for your life."

"Do it, then." Catherine snarled, straining against invisible restraints. "Just kill me."

The smile vanished from Richard's face and he leaned forward, taking Catherine's chin in his hand, gently. "I've thought about it." he said, thumb sliding up and down her jaw. "More than once. All the time, really. It would be so easy. I could make it last for days." He smiled, almost sweetly. "But I think, for the moment, I prefer you alive. I like watching to see what you do next. Ow, by the way. That really hurt."

"You're messed up," Catherine said to him, lip curling, "you know that?"

"It's not me who's messed up," Richard objected, "it's everyone else. I'm so misunderstood." He poked her on the nose. "I thought maybe you'd understand."

"I understand, all right." she replied, fists clenching. "I understand that you're a madman."

"That would be _so _much more effective if you weren't smiling." Richard said. "You thought the fiery bird was funny. Admit it. No one's watching."

The fists loosened, the corners of her small mouth curled upward. "They were awfully small circles."

Richard broke into a grin like dawn. "I _knew_ there was a reason I liked you." He sat back on his haunches, regarding her. "If I let you go, will you punch me again?"

Catherine considered. "If I say yes, will you let me go anyway?"

"Points for honesty, but no."

"Fine, I won't punch you."

"Or kick. No kicking either. Let's just say no hitting and be done with it."

"But Richard—!"

"What?"

Catherine grinned at him. "Given the chance, I'd hit that."

Richard sat, stunned, for a moment. "Walked right into that one, didn't I."

"Little bit. You gonna let me go now?"

With a wave of his hand, Richard dissolved the enchantment holding Catherine in place. She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, then reached out and slapped Richard across the face.

"Ow! You liar! We agreed no hitting!" Richard cried, putting a hand to his cheek, where a red handprint was developing.

"No," Catherine corrected, "you suggested 'no hitting' and assumed I would agree. I didn't." She grinned at him. "You just take it for granted that everything you say goes."

"Seriously, that hurt. It still stings." Richard said, rubbing his face. "What was it _for_, anyway?"

"For? It wasn't for anything. I just felt like it."

"This constitutes abuse on so many levels." Richard said, rolling his eyes.

"Don't put me under enchantments." Catherine said, wagging a finger at Richard. "I don't like it."

"So it _was_ for something. Make up your mind." Richard stood, brushing the leaves off his trousers. "I'm going home."

"But Richard," Catherine said, gazing up at him through her eyelashes, "we're all alone in the woods together, where no one can hear or see us."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "And?" he said, crossing his arms.

"No one will know what we do out here," said Catherine, rising slowly. "We could get away with almost anything."

"I know." said Richard. "But you seem to have something particular in mind." His eyes widened in horror. "Why are you unbuttoning that? Stop it, it's weird."

"It's not _weird._" she snapped, glaring at him. "What rock have you been living under for the past eighteen years?"

"A really comfy one." said Richard, backing away, hands held in front of him, palms out. "And I'd like to go back, if it's all the same to you."

Catherine regarded him sternly, arms crossed over her cleavage, foot tapping. "Aren't you attracted to women at _all?_"

"What?" said Richard, voice squeaking. "What does that have to do with anything? What is this, what are you doing?"

Shaking her head, Catherine replied, "You have _so_ much to learn."

He balled one hand into a fist and stared at the back of his hand in mock-surprise. "Look at my wrist! It's time to go." he said, and bolted.

Catherine stared at the empty space where he had been for a moment, then looked to the charred corpse and scattered bones that had been a bird. Then she braced herself against a tree and retched.

* * *

><p>"There will be complications." she said, facing a mirror that showed the silhouette of someone else.<p>

"What went wrong?" the silhouette asked, head inclining ever so slightly.

She sighed. "He's _clueless._ Face him with a woman and he turns to butter. Squeaky, _fast_ butter."

"Isn't that what we were hoping for?"

"No, it isn't." she replied, fist clenching. "At this rate, I'll never be able to get close enough. I thought I was making some progress before, with the nightmares, but they've stopped now, so I don't have anything."

"Of course you do." the silhouette replied. "From what you've told me, he's beginning to take a liking to you. Move slowly, step carefully, and you'll have him eating out of your hand by summer."

"That's not soon enough!" she cried, standing. She paced back and forth, and the head of the silhouette turned to watch her whenever she passed the mirror. "We don't have that kind of time."

"And why not?" asked the man in the mirror. "What deadline are we working towards? We have all the time in the world, my love. Be patient."

"We do _not._" she snapped, leaning her hands on the desk before the mirror. "He's not an idiot, you know. Now that he's not having the nightmares anymore, he'll be paying more attention. He's going to notice, sooner or later. We don't have time to pussyfoot around this."

"So what? What are you planning to do? These things take _patience_. Try to rush it, and it'll come crashing down like a ton of bricks."

"I think he's going to kill me." she said, sitting down heavily. "I try not to give him reasons, but he keeps finding them anyway. And I can't just roll over and let him walk all over me. Believe me, I've tried."

"Listen, if he hasn't killed you yet, he's not going to. Keep doing what you're doing and you'll be fine."

There was a pause, where the cold blue light filtering in through the windows dimmed as a cloud passed in front of the moon.

"How are things on your end?" she asked eventually.

"Oh, running swimmingly. Everything is in place, and we're ready to begin at any moment. When you feel the time is right, we'll get started."

"Really? Is that what you think?" She shook her head, then ran a hand through her hair. "You're making a huge mistake, here." she said. "There's a better way to do this. If he figures out what you're doing, we're all dead."

"Don't _worry,_ darling." the man said, a smile in his voice. "I have everything under control. The man's a wizard, not an apothecary, not a doctor. We've been planning this for months, I think we know what we're doing."

"There's no planning for him."

"That's what backup plans are for, love. Be calm, be careful, and above all, be patient. Things will work out all right."

"For your sake, for all our sakes, I hope you're right."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Sorry about the lack of update last week! I was super busy with cleaning and getting ready for school to start. Hopefully it won't happen again!**

* * *

><p>Maikos rattled the doorknob loudly, then knocked. "Lord Richard, would you kindly open this door?" he said, tugging on it. "I have very important news for you."<p>

"Go _away._" came the muffled voice from inside.

"I will not go away until you let me in." Maikos said, standing back and folding his arms. "I have something very important to tell you and I'm not going to discuss it through a door."

"Is it about my father? It's about my father, isn't it?" Something smashed against the inside of the door. "I'm not interested. Go _away._"

"It's about your mother." said Maikos, raising an eyebrow.

There was a moment of silence from the other side of the door, then a humming sound, followed by a series of metallic clicks. The door opened and Richard's face peeked out through the crack.

"Get inside, quick, before she realizes I unlocked it." he whispered, eyes darting back and forth. Maikos's brows pulled together and he stepped inside. The moment he was clear of the door, Richard closed it quickly behind him, fastened at least seven locks that were shoddily affixed to the inside of the frame, and held out a hand, green light flowing from his fingertips and slathering itself liberally over the door.

"What did you want to talk about?" Richard said, turning around. The dark circles under his eyes were almost black, and his hair was a mess.

"Lord Richard, you look terrible." Maikos said, putting his hands on his hips.

"You would too, if you'd spent the last week and a half running from _her_. Where have you been?" Richard crossed quickly to the window and peered out of it, fingers drumming on the sill.

"I received a letter from Sir Dellbridge, yes, a week and a half ago. He asked for me to come to your father's estate, as there was something he wished to discuss with me. Lord Richard, please sit down, you're making me nervous."

"Am I? Good." He strode to the fireplace, laid down on his back, and stuck his head up the flue. "You were telling a story?" he said, voice echoing up the chimney.

"Ahem, yes. When I arrived, I was met on the doorstep by none other than Professor Sokol."

Something went _thud_ inside the chimney and a lot of ash rained down around Richard's torso. "You met _who?_"

"Professor Sokol, my lord. He is alive and well."

Richard emerged from the fireplace, face blackened with soot. He dusted off his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. "Such a pity. But that's not what you wanted to tell me, is it?"

"Er, no." said Maikos, regarding Richard from the corners of his eyes. "That was, if I may say, a rather more subdued reaction than I was expecting."

"I don't care if the old fool's alive or not." Richard snapped. "You don't think I've got more important things to worry about? Like whether or not this shirt is dry-clean only? Maikos, how could you let me climb up a chimney in this shirt?"

"I apologize, my lord, I was rather distracted."

"I'm sure you were." Richard pulled off his shirt and wiped his face and hands on it. "Maikos, look in that trunk by my bed and see if there's another white shirt in there. I think I'm going to have to burn this one."

"Yes, my lord." said Maikos, crossing dutifully to the trunk at the foot of Richard's bed. He tugged on the lid and it didn't budge. "It's locked, my lord."

"I have to do _everything_ myself, don't I." Richard said, sighing. He crossed to the trunk in a few quick steps and kicked it. The lid popped open. "Oh good, there's one." he said, plucking a white silk shirt from the messy pile within. "Could you get to the point, Maikos? I'm getting tired of waiting around."

"I'm getting to it, my lord." said Maikos, heaving himself to his feet. "The point is, my lord, the reason Sir Dellbridge sent for me is because your mother is ill."

Richard froze, face hidden inside the shirt that he was halfway through pulling on. Maikos backed away slowly. With gentle care, Richard slipped his shirt the rest of the way on and began fastening the buttons at the cuffs.

"How ill?" he asked casually, eyes fixed on his wrists.

"They, er, are sending for a healer." Maikos replied. "She's bedridden, my lord."

Richard finished fastening one cuff and moved on to the other. "And who is watching over her now? Just the professor and Sir Dellbridge?"

Maikos swallowed, encountering the wall with his back. "Er, just the professor, my lord. Your father and Sir Dellbridge are busy with. . . ."

"Business?" Richard inquired, eyebrows arching. The button on his cuff slipped through his fingers. "Damn it." he said, beginning again. His hands were shaking visibly.

"Business." Maikos finished. "The, er, doctor won't arrive for another week, my lord." Maikos said, voice slowly rising in pitch. "And your mother's condition is . . . is worsening."

Without warning, the bed crunched like an accordion, like it was being balled up by giant, invisible fists, until it was no larger than the small desk chair, and lay rocking on the floor, shedding splinters. Maikos whimpered involuntarily, unable to move his gaze from the crumpled bed.

"Get a coach ready, Maikos." Richard said, voice quiet and cool. "I'm leaving right away. You can send my things after me."

* * *

><p>"And just where do you think <em>you're<em> going?" Catherine said, catching Richard by the elbow. The blue sky had clouded over and the wind smelled of rain.

"Let go of me." said Richard, standing still and looking straight ahead.

"Not until you tell me where you're going." Catherine replied. "Far away? You're taking a coach. It must be urgent, though, because I don't see any of your things packed."

"I'm going home." Richard replied, shrugging off her hand. "I'm needed there."

"Oh, running away already? First you vanish for a week and a half, and now this? I'm beginning to feel slighted, Dick."

"My mother is sick." he said quietly. "She needs my help."

Catherine recoiled slightly, brows drawing together. "Sick?" she said, concern in her voice. "How sick?"

Richard did not answer, and Catherine watched as he walked away and hopped into the coach, as he closed the door with careful gentleness. She became aware of a presence to her right, and looked to see Maikos, also watching as the driver of the coach flicked the reins and the horses pulled forward.

"How sick?" Catherine asked.

"She's dying." Maikos replied, haggard. "I didn't have the heart to tell him."

"What will he do when she dies?" Catherine inquired, twining a strand of hair around her finger. The coach was pulling away, leaving a thin cloud of dust that was almost instantly torn to shreds by the gusting wind.

"When?" said Maikos, lifting an eyebrow. "Miss Catherine, it is hardly a sure thing. She may recover yet."

"Of course. I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget about Richard's magic."

"Magic?" the servant scoffed. "Lord Richard has no healing spells." He sighed and turned his gaze back to the empty road. "He never thought he would need them."

Catherine sighed, rubbing her face. "This is all so sudden." she said. "Was Lady Ashendale prone to illness?"

Maikos held out a hand, palm upturned. "Let us go inside, Miss Catherine. I believe it's beginning to rain." He proffered his arm to Catherine, who took it. "To answer your question, yes, Lady Ashendale has always been rather fragile. But she has never been as sick as she is now."

"I feel so sorry for him." Catherine said, a gust of wind tugging at her dress. "As soon as he gets over his nightmares, this happens. It doesn't seem fair."

Maikos removed his arm from Catherine's and held the door for her. "Many things aren't, Miss Catherine. I'm sure Lord Richard can cope."

"You're sure?" said Catherine, raising an eyebrow.

The servant cleared his throat politely. "For the sake of the free world, I hope he can."

Catherine stepped inside, face pinched in thought. "You're sending his things after him, aren't you?" she said at last.

"Yes," said Maikos, warily, tugging the door closed, "why?"

"I think you and I should go along with his things."

"You?" said Maikos. "Why on earth should you go?"

"First of all, my father's there." said Catherine, putting her hands on her hips. "And second of all, because I want to, and seeing as I outrank you, there's nothing whatsoever you can do about it."

Maikos bowed his head. "Of course, Miss Dellbridge." he said. "The coach should be ready by the morning."

* * *

><p>Wind rattled the doors of the coach, making it rock on its axles. Rain pummeled the roof and walls, and the horses were tossing their heads and stamping their feet. Inside, Richard sat very still, staring at his hands.<p>

"Why now?" he asked himself. "What good are you if you can't do what I tell you?"

_Some things cannot be avoided._

Richard looked up sharply at the shadowy figure that sat across from him. Two glowing blue ovals stared out from its black-cowled face.

"And what are _you_ doing here? No one invited you. This is Richard time. Get out of my coach."

_I am here because I must be._

"No. Your services will not be necessary."

_That is not for you to decide._

"Like hell it's not. If you think for one second that I'm not going to do everything in my power to save her—"

_Your power is not to save. You have only the power to destroy. You may try, but the healing arts will escape you._

"Nobody escapes me. I'll hunt them down and beat them into submission if I have to."

_There, you see? That is precisely why they will slip through your fingers._

"Get out of my coach. I'm not kidding."

_Or what? You will kill me? _The figure chuckled, a deep sound like a hollow mountain being struck.

"If I have to." Richard replied, fists clenching.

_That would be unwise, Richard Ashendale._

"Wisdom is for people too weak to destroy the consequences of un-wise-ity." he snapped. "Consequences only apply to people who let them."

_Believe what you will._ The figure replied, shaking its head. _Eventually you will not be able to run anymore._

"Who's running?" Richard retorted. "You stay away from me and mine."

_You are afraid,_ the figure said, leaning back in its seat. _Imagine that._

"Afraid? No, I'm not afraid." He leaned forward and caught the figure by the front of its cloak, yanking its face towards him, glaring into the lidless, glowing blue eyes. "I'm _angry_. You won't like me when I'm angry."

_I don't like you anyway,_ the figure answered coolly. _I believe you have arrived. I will be seeing you again soon, Richard Ashendale. Quite soon._

The figure turned to vapor, and Richard was left with a handful of smoke. Just then, the door of the coach opened, letting in a gust of cold wind, a splattering of cold rain, and a huddle of cold driver.

"We've arrived, my lord." he said, water streaming from his hat and cloak.

"No, really?" said Richard. "Get out of here, you're dripping all over the velvet."

The coachman bowed. "Yes, my lord."

"And leave that waterproof cloak here, would you?"

Gnashing his teeth, he replied, "_Yes,_ my lord," and removed his oilskin cloak, dropping it in a heap on the floor.

"Good. Out you go! Those horses aren't going to take care of themselves." Richard made shooing motions with his hands, smiling at the coachman. With a final parting grumble, the coachman hauled open the door and hopped down into the pouring rain again. He stood in a puddle of mud and held the door as Richard stepped out, hooded cloak pulled tight around him.

"And, um, thanks." Richard muttered. The coachman raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Richard bit his lip. "Did I say that right?"

"Er, yes." the driver replied, scratching one ear. "And you're welcome."

Richard headed off into the rain, shoulders hunched, wind whipping at his borrowed cloak. The coachman stood in the rain and watching him go, shaking his head slowly.

"Mad bastard." he muttered to himself, and walked back around to the front of the coach, past a black-robed figure with two glowing orbs where its eyes should have been.

_He is a bit, isn't he,_ it said, and readjusted its grip on the scythe it held, light glinting off of a blade the color of moonlight. _Thanks for the ride._

The coachman settled into the seat and flicked the reins, clucking gently to the horses. The coach moved off, flinging mud on the black figure—mud that went right through it and splashed back to the ground. The figure moved away, rain dripping from the gracefully curved blade of the scythe.

* * *

><p>The doorknob rattled. Lord Ashendale looked up. It stopped rattling. He went back to his work.<p>

The doorknob rattled. His head jerked up sharply. Guiltily, the doorknob halted, falling silent. He glared at it, eyes narrowed, and slowly turned his head back to his desk.

The doorknob rattled. He leapt from his seat and strode to the door, just as the doorknob gave a final series of clicks and stilled. He grabbed it, wrenched it, hauled the door open and stuck his head out, peering up and down the hallway. There was no one there. He closed the door, thought for a moment, then locked it. Then he went back to his desk and sat down.

The doorknob rattled.

"Gods damn it, what do you _want?_" he cried, slamming his hands down on his desk. His inkwell jumped off the table and was plucked from the air before it could fall back down by a delicate, long-fingered hand. Three drops of black ink spilled over the rim and splattered on the desk.

"Hello, father." said Richard, leaning nonchalantly against the desk, examining the inkwell. "You're looking well."

"Richard!" Lord Ashendale cried, standing suddenly. "How in the hells did you get in here?"

Richard jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "The window. You might want to get that doorknob looked at. It's getting cheeky."

"What are you doing here?" Lord Ashendale growled, hurriedly tidying away the papers he'd been working on. "You should be at the Dellbridge house."

"A little bird told me Mother was sick." Richard said. His father looked up at him slowly; took in the hard set of his mouth, the darkness around his eyes, the water dripping from his hair and clothes. "I came to see what could be done about it."

"Richard—"

"No no, let me guess." he interrupted, holding up one hand. "He wasn't supposed to tell me. And when _were_ you planning on telling me? When she was dying? When she was already dead? At least tell me you would've invited me to the funeral?"

"Your mother is not dying." Lord Ashendale said carefully. "She's just ill."

"You know I could kill you." Richard said. "Any time I wanted."

His father took a step back. "What are you—"

"I would, too, but I think the overwhelming joy might kill her. Where is she?"

"She's not taking visitors." Lord Ashendale replied. Suddenly Richard's hands were full of his lapels and his feet weren't touching the ground.

"I asked you a question." Richard pointed out. "And I think you had better answer."

"She's . . . in our bedroom." Lord Ashendale choked out. Richard smiled at him.

"See? That wasn't so difficult." He let go, and his father stumbled back a few paces, shoulders slumped, hands carefully straightening his shirt front. "And you know she'll be happy to see me."

"For the God's sakes, Richard, it's the middle of the night." Lord Ashendale said, voice hoarse. "She needs rest. At least wait until morning."

"Mourning." said Richard. "Hah. You'll never guess who I saw on the way here."

"Your games aren't funny anymore." Lord Ashendale said, approaching slowly. "You have no right to barge in here in the middle of the night and threaten me. Your mother—my wife—is _sick_. She is so sick she can't get out of bed, and the best thing you can think of to do is waltz back here and throw a spanner into the works?"

"Throw a—Father, I came back to _help._" Richard said, placing the inkwell back on the desk.

"Help?" inquired Lord Ashendale, and snorted. "What could you possibly do to help? If you're smart, you'll do as I tell you, and go back to the Dellbridges' first thing in the morning."

"Not without seeing Mother!" Richard objected. "I'm not leaving without seeing her."

"And troubling her further? She'll only worry about you the more if she sees you here. She told me _specifically_ not to let you find out."

"But. . . ."

"But nothing. Go to your room, go to bed, and be ready to leave at dawn."

"I hate getting up early. I'm not leaving at dawn. I'm not leaving without seeing my mother."

"You will do more harm than good." Lord Ashendale warned. "Don't say I didn't tell you so."

Richard glared at him, arms folded. "It's number one on my list of priorities." He strode to the door, opened it, and stood in the threshold for a moment. "I saw Death." he said quietly. "In the coach. He's coming here."

"You have lost your mind." said Lord Ashendale, dropping heavily into his chair.

"As long as that's the only thing I lose." said Richard, and closed the door behind him.

Lord Ashendale sat in silence, head bowed, breathing slow and deliberate. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, then sighed, pulling his papers out of their drawer and setting them back on the desk. He dipped his pen in the inkwell, thought for a moment, and touched it to the paper.

The doorknob rattled.

"Ooh, you cheeky bastard!" Richard cried from the other side of the door. Then there was the sound of running feet, and then silence.


	8. Chapter 8

**Judging by the past four weeks, I'm now changing the update schedule to every other Wednesday. Blame the Physics program!**

* * *

><p>The sunrise was slow behind the clouds, the light diffusing upwards and across the sky, like water spreading across a marble countertop. Richard stood at his window, hands pressing hard against the sill, staring out at the subdued, grey morning. His face was hard and lined, the corners of his mouth and eyes pinched. He stood motionless as his room slowly brightened, as the first few drops of rain tapped against his window. He stood as the rain became a downpour, then turned back to a drizzle, then stopped altogether. He stood until the sun, small and pale and watery, passed from his view, when his stomach growled.<p>

"Oh." he said, then jabbed his abdomen with a finger. "Shut up, no one asked you." He looked out the window and adopted a mild expression of surprise. "Is it that late already? Maikos! Why didn't you tell me it was so late? Maikos!"

There was a moment of silence.

"Maikos?" he said, voice thin. He turned slowly, surveyed his barren, empty room. His eyes were wide, eyebrows pulled up; then his face fell and his whole frame sagged. "Oh." he said. "Right."

Minutes later, Richard was walking down an empty hallway, his bare feet making soft _pat pat_ noises on the cold floors. He stopped at a wooden door, reached out a hand, hesitated, and let it fall. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then sighed it out. He knocked, softly.

"Come in," answered a frail voice from within. Richard opened the door and stepped in.

She was thin, and pale, like the morning sun behind the rain. She was propped up in her bed of white sheets, the tables at her bedside bare, her nursemaid sitting in the corner. Her eyes were glassy, and bright, and her hair was thin and wild. A nauseating smell permeated the room, like a baby's soiled nappy. She smiled weakly when she saw Richard, raised a shaking hand and beckoned him closer.

"I came as soon as I heard." Richard said, sitting beside her on the bed.

"Oh, darling, you weren't supposed to _know._" she said, clasping his hand weakly. Her skin was cool and papery. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Me? Mother, you know I worry about you." he said, putting his other hand over hers. "All the time, no matter what you say or do." He smiled, or tried to. "I hope you didn't think you could keep all this a secret from me?"

"Oh, _Richard._" she said, smiling indulgently. "I'm glad you're here." She suddenly grimaced, back arching, hands white-knuckled and trembling. She gasped and relaxed, shuddering more violently now. "Sorry, darling." she said, corners of her mouth twitching. "That happens sometimes."

Richard's jaw clenched, his eyes uncommonly bright. "I will find a way to help you." he said. His mother sighed and shut her eyes.

"Oh, I know you will, darling." Her hand squeezed his. "You always do." She sighed deeply, and was soon fast asleep.

Richard leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I will _find_ a way." he vowed, eyes aflame.

The nursemaid cleared her throat. "Er, would you like me to stay, my lord?" she asked.

"Of course." Richard snapped, standing quickly. "Why wouldn't I? I have research to do. And I am _not_ to be disturbed."

"But—" she began, but he had already swept from the room.

* * *

><p>The carriage finally jerked to a halt, and Maikos jerked awake, his snores ceasing abruptly.<p>

"Are we there?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"We're there." Catherine replied, peering out through a gap in the curtains. "I can see why he hates it. It looks hungry."

Maikos stretched expansively and scooted to the door, which he shoved open and proceeded to jump out of. He made a squelching noise and a strained face when he landed.

"Ah," he said, "we appear to have parked in a mud puddle."

"Well, tell the coachman to move." Catherine said, poking her head out.

"He, er, appears to have gone, miss."

"Then—"

"With the horses."

"Oh."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"Piggy-back ride?" Catherine suggested.

Maikos sighed, rubbing his lower back. "If you must." he said.

Catherine peered at the puddle. "No, I can jump it. Hold my shoes."

Maikos took a soggy step back as the dainty footwear was thrust into his arms. Catherine backed up against the opposite side of the wagon, paused just a moment, and launched herself out.

She soared over the puddle, landed on her hands and launched herself over backwards, then landed on her feet with a faint swish ten feet away. Maikos gaped at her, open-mouthed.

"There we are." she said, dusting her palms against each other and straightening her skirt. "That wasn't so bad. How's my hair?"

"It, er . . ." Maikos stammered. "Miss Catherine, may I ask you a prying question?"

"Only if you don't mind an uncomfortable answer." she replied. "Bring me my shoes, would you? We can send someone for the luggage."

Mutely, Maikos crossed to her and handed over her shoes. She slipped them on and began walking. There was not a spot on her.

"Miss Catherine, were you ever trained as a warrior?" Maikos asked at last, the ground squishing under his hefty boots.

"Trained?" she said, combing her hair with her fingers. "No. But I learned. I taught myself. Just in case."

"In case of what?" he inquired, sidling around another puddle. "Invasion? Attack?"

She laughed. "No, silly. In case anyone tried to get in my way."

Maikos raised a bushy eyebrow. "Has anyone tried?"

Catherine grinned. "Not twice."

By this time they had reached the front door of the mansion, and Maikos set about knocking the mud off of his shoes, kicking the second-to-top stair repeatedly. "Miss Catherine, may I ask another prying question?" he asked, a little short of breath.

"Only if you don't mind another brutally honest answer."

"Well, it's this." he said, turning his foot sideways and continuing to kick. "Why did you come here? Why didn't you stay at home? This . . . this isn't a matter that concerns you."

"My mother-in-law-to-be is extremely ill." Catherine replied. "I think it concerns me. Besides that, my father is here. If I had stayed at home, there would have been no one there but me and the servants. To be perfectly honest, it would have been downright _boring._"

Maikos laughed suddenly.

"What?" said Catherine. "What's funny?"

"Nothing." he replied, starting to kick the mud off the other boot. "You just reminded me of someone."

* * *

><p>Richard answered the knock on his door with his traditional response.<p>

"Go _away!_" he cried. He was entombed in a tower of books, stacked one on top of the other in a crumbled cylinder around him, some lying open on his crossed legs, some propped up on the towers of the others, some cast away into corners with their pages crumpled under them. His shoulders were hunched and the circles under his eyes were pronounced, and his hair stood up in odd directions, as though it had been pulled at.

"Lord Richard, it's Maikos." said the person on the other side of the door.

"Go _away,_ Maikos!" Richard called back. He grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose, and his next words were subdued. "I'm working."

"I'm sorry, my lord, but Catherine insists."

Richard picked up a book and hurled it at the door with all his strength. "You brought _her_ here? Maikos, what in the thirteen hells were you _thinking?_ I told you to bring my _things_, not that elf-faced succubus."

There was silence from both sides of the door.

"She's out there with you, isn't she." Richard intoned, rubbing his temples.

"I'm afraid so, my lord."

Richard waved a hand and his door unlocked and swung open, squealing on its hinges. He didn't turn to look at it.

"Hello, Maikos." he said. "Hello, Catherine."

Catherine ran up behind him, dropped to her knees, and hugged him tightly. "And I'm glad to see you too, my dark-eyed sadist!"

"Get away from me!" he cried, flailing wildly. A wayward arm collided with a stack of books and they tumbled to the floor with a series of hollow thumps.

Maikos cleared his throat. "Er, how is your mother?" he asked. Richard extracted himself from Catherine's arms and stood, brushing himself off.

"No better." he replied. "Worse, if you were telling the truth about her. Which I doubt. She's having convulsions, and I think something's gone wrong in her intestines. She's too weak to get out of bed and she won't eat."

Maikos shook his head. "So it's as I thought. What are all these books for?"

"These?" Richard said, indicating with a hand. He snorted and set a whole stack of them on fire with a snap of his fingers. "Nothing, if their contents are anything to go by. Why don't I have any _useful_ books, Maikos? Just these fat things full of _history_. The best I've found is a book of herbal remedies, and we all know how well _those_ work. I can't even figure out what's _wrong_ with her."

Catherine rose, hands on her hips. "How long have you been at this?" she demanded.

Richard dismissed her with a wave of the hand. "I don't know, I haven't been keeping track."

Maikos peered at him. "At least six hours, if his hair is anything to go by. Maybe more."

"Look, why can't you two just leave me alone? I have work to do."

"You won't find anything here." Maikos said. "Nobody in this house knows anything about medicine, nobody ever has." Richard opened his mouth to object, but Maikos cut him off. "I catalogued the entire library, my lord." he said softly. "I know."

"Fine." said Richard. "Then I'll look somewhere else."

"There's nothing else _here_." Catherine objected. "This house is in the middle of nowhere."

"That's all _you_ know." he said, brushing past her. He paused in the doorway to glare at them. "Don't come looking for me this time." he warned. And then he was gone.

* * *

><p>The forest was still dripping when Richard entered it, showering him with cold water whenever the wind blew. He walked barefoot through puddles of water and mud, waded across a frigid river and cut his feet on the stones, pushed through brambles and brush alike, face grim and determined, until he heard the familiar whisper of a voice he could never remember.<p>

"I know you're there." he proclaimed, stopping in a dark, muddy bowl between three trees. "I can hear you whispering to yourself."

_Hello, Richard. You seem to be in a hurry._

"I am in a hurry. You took your sweet time."

_I thought you did not remember me._

"I don't. But I know that whenever I walk off into the woods by myself, I come back a few days later with a few more tricks up my sleeve. And the name 'Veron' seems to ring a bell."

_Very good. But I think you came here for a specific purpose._

"My mother is dying."

_Ah, a happy happenstance. It will save you the trouble of killing her._

"Ki—what? Listen, I don't know what rock you've been living under—"

_Apologies. Sometimes I get mixed up._

"I need to save her. And you can tell me how."

_I can. But will I?_

"Of course you will."

_Why should I? Death takes all, in time_.

"Not her. Not now. Tell me how to save her."

_It's simple, really. But it is not a spell. You cannot wield the healing arts. Your spirit is too far corrupted by death. There is nothing you can do for her._

"Then what?" Richard cried, rounding on empty space. "Tell me what I have to do!"

_Get married,_ the voice said, and, chuckling, vanished into the rain.

Richard stood, round-shouldered, sopping wet, face slack.

"This sucks." he said, and started off in the direction of home.

* * *

><p>Richard emerged from the forest, sopping wet and trembling with cold, and stopped. The mansion stood atop a slight rise, stared down at him with windows like dead eyes, steel-gray as the clouds it was silhouetted against. He leaned against a tree, arms curled around his own waist, and sighed.<p>

"But I don't _want_ to," he commented to no one.

"Don't want to what?" someone said just to his right. He barely started at all.

"Hi Catherine." he said.

"Hi Dick." she replied, leaning on the other side of his tree. "I know you told us not to come looking for you, but I just couldn't resist. What did you find out there? You look half-dead."

"I just . . . had to think some things over." he replied, still staring at his home. "Priorities."

"So you didn't find what you were looking for?"

"Not even remotely."

"So what did you find?"

Richard sighed, rubbed his eyes with blue-tipped fingers. "I'm going to ask you a question, Catherine. I don't want you to feel pressured into answering the way you think I want you to answer. Because just this once, I don't care what your answer is. I just have to know."

"You mean, no repercussions if I answer wrong?" she said, swinging around to his side of the tree.

"There is no wrong answer." he replied. "Except not to answer."

"All right." she said. "Fire away."

"Do you have _anything_ to do with my mother's illness?"

Catherine stared at him long and hard, her blue eyes slate-gray in the cloudy evening light. "No, Richard." she said at last, dropping her gaze. "But believe me, if there were anything I could do to help, I would."

"There's something you can do, all right." Richard said, voice dark and unamused. He let out a short bark of laughter, rolling his eyes. "And you barely have to do anything."

She smiled, just a little, and put a hand on Richard's bony shoulder. "Say the word, and I'm there."

"That's just it." he said, voice squeaking. "I don't want to. I don't want you to agree. I want to find another way but I just _don't have the time._" He bowed his head, eyes closed, breathing deeply. "I don't have any other options."

"You're scaring me, Richard." Catherine said, lightly touching his cheek. "No matter what it is, I promise, we'll find a way through."

"Catherine," Richard said, meeting her eyes with considerable force, "I need you to marry me."

She took an involuntary step backwards. "That's . . . not what I was expecting. Are you _sure?_ You haven't gone mad or anything?"

"I probably have." he conceded.

"I don't see how this is related to anything we were just talking about."

"It is. Just trust me."

"Where did you get this notion?"

"A disembodied voice in the forest told me."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"When I put it that way, it _does_ sound crazy." Richard admitted, rubbing the back of his head. "But it didn't at the time."

"And you're determined?" Catherine said, one hand on her hip.

"Completely."

"In that case, I accept your proposal. For a given value of proposal. Now come inside before you catch your death of cold."

* * *

><p>They sat in a room together, one candle between them. No moonlight showed past the clouds, and the pouring rain outside covered their soft voices.<p>

"It's going better than I expected." said the first—a man. The second waved a hand dismissively.

"Never mind that. Do you know how close he came?" She held up her thumb and forefinger, less than an inch apart. "This close. One slip of the tongue and we'd all be dead now, or worse."

"It's a good thing I bumped up the schedule, then."

"Without informing me, thanks for that. I had exactly _zero_ time to prepare. We're in this together, you realize. We're a _team_."

"And sometimes, one has to take liberties when he can't get in touch with his partner. I hadn't heard from you in a week and a half. I had to assume the worst."

"You should have checked the library. He could have found something actually _useful._ What if he'd recognized the symptoms?"

"He didn't, and he isn't going to. You should be able to convince him to advance the day by a couple months. He wouldn't want his mother to miss his wedding."

There was a smile in her voice when she next spoke. "You are truly brilliant, do you know that?"

"I am when I have to be. I see no reason to kill an innocent woman when it can so easily be avoided. Any word from the doctor?"

She nodded. "The letter was intercepted successfully. Should I tell our people to go ahead and send it along?"

"Hm. Yes, do. I'll lower the dosage a bit, shall I? For safety's sake."

"Of course. Why do you have to ask me?"

He chuckled gently. "So you wouldn't yell at me for not consulting you again, darling."

She slapped his hand playfully. "Oh, don't. Now get some rest. You're not as young as you used to be."

"You should rest too, then. You have a big couple of weeks coming up."

Teeth flashed in the candle light. "Oh, don't think I don't know it. Be sure to send word to the Sisterhood. I don't want to get caught on my wedding day without a ring."

"It shall be done." he said grandly, and rose. "Shall we?"

She stood as well, took his hand, and blew out the candle. "Let's."


	9. Chapter 9

Richard stared at himself critically in the mirror. Maikos stood off to his left, turning his hat over and over in his hands.

"Was the bowtie _strictly_ necessary?" he asked, face twitching around the mouth and eyes.

"Of course it was." said Richard. "If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right." Suddenly he sighed and sat heavily on the floor, cradling his head in his hands. "What am I _doing_, Maikos? How did it come to this?"

Maikos coughed politely, worrying the frayed hem of his hat. "I, er. . . ."

"That was rhetorical, Maikos." Richard said, tightening his grip on his hair. "I didn't expect you to answer."

"Lord Richard, please don't. It was actually neat for once."

"What was?" he said, looking up sharply. "My hair? How can you be thinking of hair at a time like this?"

Maikos sighed. "You make it sound like you're walking to the gallows."

"Honestly, Maikos, I'd rather be."

There was a knock at the door, and it opened before either occupant could respond. A maidservant poked her head in. "Lord Richard?" she said. "Er, they're ready."

Richard stood up and sighed, combing his hair flat with his fingers. "Let's get this over with." he said. "Maikos, I want you to promise me something."

The red-headed servant motioned for the maid to close the door, which she did. "Anything, my lord."

"That's a terrible response." Richard admonished, wagging a finger at him. "I could tell you to do _anything_ and you'd have to do it. Honestly, it's a wonder you're not my _slave_ by now, making promises willy-nilly like that."

"Er, apologies, my lord."

Richard waved a hand. "No matter." His jovial manner vanished. "Maikos, I need you to promise me this one thing. And you cannot back out, because if you do, I swear to whatever gods there are you _will_ live to regret it. A long, long time."

"Understood, my lord."

He sighed. "Maikos, if my mother's condition does not improve . . . if she dies . . . Maikos, I want you to kill me."

Maikos gasped, taking an involuntary step back. "But, Lord Richard—! Why?"

"_Why?_ Don't you dare question me, Maikos." Richard snapped, a light like madness in his eyes. "But since you ask. . . . I don't know any quicker way to get into the underworld."

"And you need to know this because. . . ?"

"Because I'm going to bring her back." Richard replied, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. "And then, I'm going to kill whoever did this to her."

"Whoever? You suspect foul play?"

"I always suspect foul play. But even if it's not, _somebody's_ going to pay."

"You mean—"

"I think 'mean' is a bit of an understatement, don't you?" Ricard replied. "Now come on, I'm late to my _wedding._"

* * *

><p>"Maikos," Richard hissed, leaning down to speak into his servant's ear, "why are there only three people here?"<p>

"It was extremely short notice, my lord." he replied. "No one could get here."

"For a minute there, I thought it was too good to be true. What if someone objects?"

"My lord?"

"You know, 'speak now or forever hold your peace.' What if someone speaks?"

"No one's going to, my lord. Unless Sir Dellbridge or the priest have objections."

"What if _I_ object?" he said. He was picking at his fingernails as they stood on the threshold of the estate's private chapel.

Maikos shrugged. "I suppose they call off the wedding, my lord. Although I would expect a great deal of retribution from Catherine."

Richard sighed, running a hand over his face. "Can't you drug me or something? I don't want to be lucid for this."

"I already drug you all the way here." Maikos said with a half-smile. Richard glared at him.

"I suppose that was supposed to be funny." he said.

"Sorry, my lord."

"Of course you are, now apologize."

Just then the priest, dressed in a black robe, stepped up onto the pulpit, clearing his throat.

"I think it's time." said Maikos.

"Last chance to kill me, Maikos." Richard said, then clasped his hands and fell to his knees. "Please kill me, Maikos. Kill me now."

"I, er. . . ." said Maikos, but was interrupted by a loud and significant cough from Lord Ashendale, who was sitting in the front row, glaring over his shoulder at the two hesitating in the door. "You'd best go." he said, putting a hand on Richard's shoulder.

Richard sighed, getting to his feet. "I suppose I'd better." He cast a despairing eye over the chapel. "Why do I get a bad feeling about this?"

"I think that's dread." Maikos replied, and shoved Richard through the door.

* * *

><p>Catherine had walked up the aisle looking radiant, eyes on the floor, smiling quietly to herself. After that, everything was a blur—the priest talking, addressing each of them in turn; a young boy bringing the rings on a pillow; the call for objections and the lack thereof; the sweat trickling down the back of his neck despite the chill in the chapel; placing the ring on Catherine's finger with trembling hands; feeling her ring slip onto his finger, cold and heavy and a little too tight.<p>

"Do you, Richard Clarence Ashendale, take Catherine Allison Dellbridge to be your lawfully wedded wife, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part?"

For the first time, Richard looked Catherine in the eye, and saw something flash there, something triumphant. His tongue tried to strangle the words before he spoke them.

"I do." he croaked. Something was wrong. The room was spinning. His knees felt weak.

"Do you, Catherine Allison Dellbridge, take Richard Clarence Ashendale to be your lawfully wedded husband, for richer or for poorer. . . ." The words sounded like they were coming from underwater, slow and distorted. The room was getting dimmer, as though a cloud were passing over the sun; but it kept on getting dimmer and dimmer, fuzzier and grayer. The rest of the priest's words were a jumbled mush, sloshing around in his ears like so much dishwater. Catherine said something, her voice just as muffled and indistinct as the priest's. The room was spinning faster and faster, and multicolored sparks swam before his vision, trailing darkness behind them. The priest spoke again, his words seeming to take hours to complete, then Catherine leaned in and gently pressed her lips to his—he could barely feel it at all.

Then the darkness became complete, there was the sound of the ocean, and he knew no more.

* * *

><p>Catherine stared at Richard, who was lying on the floor, lips parted, eyes closed, one hand still outstretched as he had tried to catch himself. She sighed.<p>

"He fainted." she said, then knelt beside him and began to fan him with the headpiece of her veil. "Richard, wake up, darling. Dick, sweetie, come on now."

Richard did not stir.

"Is he . . . _dead?_" asked Sir Dellbridge, kneeling on Richard's other side.

"He's breathing." Catherine said. "I think he might have hit his head."

"Don't worry." Sir Dellbridge said, putting his hand on hers. "We'll take him up to his room. He'll be fine."

She smiled weakly at him. "Thank you, Daddy."

Sir Dellbridge turned his head and beckoned to Maikos, who had been standing in a back corner. "Maikos! Come here, please." The red-headed servant scuttled over, wringing his hat in his hands.

"Yes, Sir Dellbridge?" he said, looking down at Richard with no small amount of concern.

"Help me carry Lord Richard to his room, would you?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." said Maikos, stooping to take Richard's left arm, while Sir Dellbridge hoisted the right. "He's . . . fainted, has he?"

"Dead away." Sir Dellbridge replied. "I daresay the stress was a bit much for him."

Maikos's eyes narrowed and his lips pinched together, but he said nothing more.

* * *

><p>Richard groaned, rolled onto his side, and pried his eyes open.<p>

"Maikos, I had the most _horrific_ dream." he said, sitting up and rubbing his face. "I dreamed I got mar—"

He stared at his left hand, face slowly moving from mild confusion to utter, undisguised horror. There was a gold ring on his third finger, glinting in the evening sunlight.

"Oh Gods, no." he whispered. "This isn't happening. Maikos! I need you to slap me. Just pretend I owe you money or something. Don't worry, I won't kill you this time—I'm dreaming, after all. _Maikos!_"

He looked out over his room and saw the servant sitting a short ways off, one hand tangled in his hair. Maikos looked up at Richard, the lines around his eyes deep and numerous.

"My lord," he croaked, "this is hardly the time for levity."

"Every time is the time for levity." Richard snapped, standing up and stretching. "Especially when you're dreaming. _I dreamed a dream—"_ he began singing, but Maikos cut him off.

"Lord Richard, stop it!" he cried, getting to his feet. "You're not dreaming. You are married now. You've been unconscious for several hours. While you were gone, a doctor arrived for your mother. She—"

"Doctors." Richard said, rolling his eyes. "Can't live with 'em, die even faster without 'em. Where is he? I have something to say to him. Additionally, do we have any carrots?"

"Your mother is being poisoned!" Maikos cried, flinging his hat down on the floor.

Silence fell; unnatural silence, true silence. Maikos couldn't even hear his own breathing.

"That's _it._" said Richard, voice deafening, although the words were spoken softly. "I think I have gone quite long enough without burning this whole gods-forsaken estate to the ground."

"Lord Richard, I—" Maikos began, but Richard had already flung out an arm, face grim, jaw clenched.

He stood like that for a moment, then slowly turned his head to look at his hand. He shook his arm, first irritatedly, then more violently. He brought his hand up to his face, glared at it, and then slapped the back of his hand, hard. The sound seemed to echo off the walls of his small room. He flailed his hand around until his wrist popped, then just stared at it as it hung weakly from the end of his arm. He sank to the floor, staring numbly at his hand.

"It's gone." he said weakly.

"My lord?" said Maikos, drawn between concern and fear.

"My magic." Richard croaked. He drew a shuddering breath, put his hand to his head and dug in his fingernails. "It's . . . _gone._" His eyes were bright with swallowed tears, staring blindly at the floor. He sat, shivering, as a tear spilled out of his eye and ran down his cheek, dripped onto his leg. He gasped, breath catching in his throat, and dissolved into despondent sobs, curled in upon himself like a child who has, for the first time, witnessed death. Maikos moved slowly to him, sat by his side, and cradled him until his hopeless grief subsided.

"Maikos," he whispered, face still buried in his servant's shoulder, "no one can know about this."

"Of course." Maikos replied, patting Richard awkwardly on the back. "But, my lord, what are you going to do?"

Richard sniffled and sat up, wiping his face on his sleeve. "Well _first,_" he said, "I'b going to find out who's been poisoning by bother. And _then,_ I'b going to figure out how to get by bagic back, so I can bassacre theb. They think they can take by bother frob be, and then they have the nerve to take by bagic, too?" He blew his nose on his red silk handkerchief. "I'b going to paint the town red."

He looked at Maikos, with his damp shoulder and his expression of mild horror mixed with concern, and smiled wryly. "Rebind be to bake that speech again when I haben't been crying."

"I will, my lord. But how can you be sure it's the same person behind both?"

Richard stared at him critically. "Don't be an idiot, Baikos." he said, and blew his nose again. "This is actually about be. Not like all those other things that weren't really about be but I liked to pretend they were. Sobeone's trying to get at be through the things I love. And it's sobeone nearby, sobeone who knows." His eyes narrowed. "If I didn't think you were such a coward, I bight suspect _you_. But I don't think you have the planning skills or the spine necessary."

Maikos shook his head. "And besides that, what motive could I possibly have?"

"I'b sure there are hundreds. But that's not the point."

"What is?"

"Go change shirts and I'll tell you. And if anyone asks, it's _you_ who's been crying."

* * *

><p>Catherine sat alone in her borrowed room, reading. There was a knock at her door, and she looked up, puzzled. "Come in!" she called.<p>

The door opened a crack, and Maikos popped his balding head in. "Er, Miss Catherine, I was wondering if I might have a word."

"You can have as many as you like. Come in." she replied, beckoning him. He shut the door and sat down across from her. She closed her book on her thumb and gazed steadily at the servant. "Oh dear. Are you all right?"

Maikos ran a hand down his face. "I'm fine, miss, thanks all the same."

"I just didn't want to have two faintings in one day." She smiled, perhaps a bit mischievously.

"Meaning no disrespect, Miss Catherine, but this isn't about me." Maikos said, clasping his hands. He sighed, scratched his head, rubbed his ear. "Miss Catherine, have you heard the doctor's report on Mrs. Ashendale?"

Catherine shook her head, golden curls brushing her cheeks.

"He said she was being poisoned. Lead, it seems. Even if she ingests no more poison, she will still probably die."

She put a hand to her chest, face the very picture of concern. "Oh, no." she said. "Oh, the poor woman. Who would do such a thing?"

"I have my suspicions." Maikos replied darkly, "And Lord Richard has his."

"How is he?"

"Awake, and furious." the servant answered. "Miss Catherine, I ask you this as . . . as a friend. I hope I can call you my friend?"

She leaned forward, put a hand on his shoulder. "Of course you can, Maikos. You're my only friend _in_ this gods-forsaken place. Ask me _anything_, Maikos, but anything at all."

He took a deep breath and looked away to the right. "Do you know of _anyone_ who would want to hurt Lord Richard? Who would want him hurt so much, so badly, that they wouldn't care who else they had to hurt to get to him? That they would kill an innocent woman, just to injure Lord Richard. Can you think of _anyone_ who hates him that much?"

Catherine sighed. "Off the top of my head? At least twenty." she replied. Maikos pulled back from her, confused. "Oh, come on, Maikos. He doesn't exactly play well with others. He kills other people's pets for fun. He killed an injured man on the off chance that it might have been his professor, whom he hates. Do you know how many times he's threatened to kill me? Neither do I, because I lost count_ months_ ago. He is a clear and present danger to everyone around him. I wouldn't be surprised if he decided to burn this whole place to the ground, on the off-chance that the person who had the nerve to do these things to him was inside."

Maikos hung his head guiltily, biting his lip.

"Honestly, I'm surprised it took this long for one of them to get up the nerve to go after him." She smiled gently at Maikos, then reached out a hand and lifted his chin. Their eyes met. "But if I had to take a guess, just a wild guess, based on what I know of Richard. . . ."

"Yes?"

"It was probably his father."


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Surprise! Some chapters just want to be written.**

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><p>They sat together in Richard's small room, which was still cluttered with books, pointedly not looking at each other.<p>

"So." said Richard.

"Do you think he'll ever unlock the door?" Catherine asked, gazing wistfully at the room's only exit.

Richard snorted. "Knowing Maikos? He'll probably wait until we jump to our deaths."

"Or, we could have a civilized conversation, like civilized people, like he asked." Catherine pointed out. "Just a thought."

"I refuse absolutely to have a civilized conversation with you. It would be excruciatingly boring. I'd rather jump."

"Can we at least talk about _something?_"

"We are."

"I mean something that matters."

"Getting out of here matters."

Their eyes met for a moment and they hurriedly looked away, Richard at the window, Catherine at the door.

"The doctor. . . ." Catherine began, and stopped, wringing her hands. Richard risked a sideways glance at her. The corners of her mouth were pinched, her eyebrows drawn together. She swallowed, blinked a few times, and continued. "The doctor says your mother probably won't live through the night."

"And here Maikos has me locked up in this room with _you_. I like his sense of priorities. Incidentally, do you remember where I put my dagger?"

"It's under your bed, next to the _Compendium Magorum_." she replied with a casual wave of her hand. "But please don't stab him. I'm sure he has your best interests at heart."

Richard stuck his whole upper body under his bed, then called out to Catherine, "It is _not_." He kicked his feet a few times, head resting on his hands. "I don't see how this benefits anyone."

"We're married." Catherine said. "Come out from under there, you look silly."

"No." said Richard, and pulled his feet under after him. "And anyway, I don't see what marriage has to do with any of this."

"You don't think it's odd that we've pledged to spend our lives with one another, come what may, and we haven't had a single conversation in the three weeks since we did so?"

"I've been busy." Richard replied, voice muffled by his bed. "Research. Writing letters. Boring things."

"Who've you been writing letters to?" Catherine inquired, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor by Richard's bed. She could see him only as a dark shadow, lying flat on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"And I think it is. Will it do any harm to tell me?"

"Probably."

"Oh, come now, Dick. You know I couldn't lay a finger on you, even if I wanted to."

Richard's whole body went rigid, just for a moment, and then he sighed.

"Fine. I've been sending messages to town, asking if they know of any good healers in the region. Nobody's answered yet. And if you call me 'Dick' one more time I swear to God. . . ."

"Which one?" Catherine retorted. "And anyway, you needn't be so touchy about it. Are you sending for healers because of your mother? You really think they could help?"

"Would I be wasting the effort if I didn't?"

Catherine gave him a critical look, which he was completely unable to see. "Yes, I think you would."

There was a lull, where Catherine looked at Richard and Richard looked at the inside of his own elbow, before finally he sighed and removed his arm from his face.

"What are we supposed to talk about? Anything? Everything? I don't have _time_ for this. So you talk, and I'll listen, and when you're done, I'll go back to doing important things and you can go back to doing whatever it is you do when we _haven't_ been locked in a room together."

Catherine sighed and looked at her hands. "There _was_ something specific I was supposed to talk to you about. I just . . . I wasn't sure . . . I don't know how to even begin. . . ."

"What is this, a story? It doesn't need a beginning. Or an end. Or even a middle, for that matter. Just _say_ it so I can get out of here."

"It isn't that simple." Catherine objected, shifting onto one hip and curling her legs behind her. "It isn't the kind of thing you just . . . blurt out. It's . . . it's _life-changing!_"

"Oh boy. Just what I need. More changes in my life." Richard intoned, then made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. "If you're going to stammer around it all day, I'll just let you think about it while I get on with my life."

"But . . . Dick, you don't understand. You _can't_ understand. Everything will change. _Everything!_ I can't just . . . I wanted you to be ready. Oh, don't you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

Richard glared at her. She was obviously distressed, eyes going red around the edges, chewing on her lips, picking at her fingernails. He sighed. "No. No, I don't. So _tell me._"

"I . . ." she sighed, bowed her head; and when she next spoke, her voice was softer than the fall of a feather. "I'm pregnant."

He gaped. He stared. His mouth moved, and no sound came out. He sat up quickly and cracked his head against the underside of his bed.

"_Son of a—!_" he cried, putting a hand to his forehead and curling up under the bed. He wriggled out into the light, still staring wide-eyed at Catherine, who seemed fascinated by her fingernails. "You . . . but . . . that's not . . . _what?_"

She smiled shyly and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen. Now do you see why I didn't want to just drop it out of thin air? Why I had to . . . to try and get you to figure it out for yourself? Now do you see what was so important that Maikos had to lock us up here alone? I've been trying to tell you for a week, Dick, but you just never _let_ me."

"I . . ." he leaned back against his bed, ran a hand through his hair. "Why does it all happen at once?" he asked miserably.

"I don't know." Catherine said, taking his hand in hers. "But we'll work through this. It's something to celebrate. Something to bring hope."

"I'm going to throw up." said Richard.

"I know it isn't a fair trade, your mother's death and your son's birth, but it is _something_, isn't it?"

"No, seriously." he said, putting a hand to his head. "And my mother _won't_ die."

Catherine pulled him into an embrace, stroking his shoulder. "Sweetheart, sometimes you just have to let things _go._"

Richard hiccuped, then shoved Catherine away and vomited at the foot of his bed.

She stared at him with pity in her eyes. "You weren't joking." she said. "I'm sorry. I'll get you some tea. Wait here. Don't go anywhere." She rose in a swish of skirt and knocked on the door. "Maikos?" she called. "You're still out there, aren't you?"

"Yes, miss." came the muffled reply.

"Richard isn't feeling well. Could you bring up a cup of tea or two?"

"Oh, certainly." Maikos replied. "Back in a moment." There was the sound of running footsteps, then nothing. Catherine moved back to Richard's side and sat down, putting an arm around his shoulders. For a long time, neither one moved or spoke.

"It's going to be all right." she said eventually. "I know this is hard for you, but you're strong enough to get through it."

"Am I?" he asked, voice rough and quiet. "All alone, left with nothing, am I really?"

"Dick, what are you talking about?"

There was a knock at the door. "Tea!" called Maikos. Richard hauled himself to his feet, waving off Catherine's offer to get it.

"I'm not _dying._" he snapped. The door unlocked and he pulled it open. Maikos stood before him, flushed and sweaty, carrying a tray with a pot of tea and two cups on it. "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore."

The tray fell with a crash, spilling hot tea all over the floor. Richard vanished down the hallway in a flurry of dark robes, running as fast as his feet would carry him. Maikos stood in the doorway and looked at Catherine.

"He didn't take it so well, then."

She shook her head. "You wouldn't expect him to, would you? If I found out my father had been poisoning my mother, right under my own nose. . . . I think he's taking it exceptionally well, considering. You don't think he'll do anything _stupid_, do you?"

Maikos rubbed one eyebrow. "I don't _think_ so, Miss Catherine. I know so."

* * *

><p>There was a guard outside the door to his mother's room, a shiny-faced young man with blonde hair and broad shoulders.<p>

"Let me in." Richard ordered, breathing heavily. The guard shifted uneasily, rolling his shoulders and looking off to the side.

"I wish I could." he replied eventually. "I do, my lord. But I'm under orders, you see? Nobody goes in except the doctor. He was very ad—" The guard was cut short when Richard's hand closed around his throat.

"Let me in or I will kill you." he said calmly, expressionless.

"Hhhrk," said the guard, his face growing red. Richard let go and the guard, coughing, said, "Yes, my lord," and stood aside. The young lord opened the door without so much as a second glance at the guard.

She was like a ghost, lying on her bed in the pale gray light of cloudy evening. She had grown thin, little more than skin stretched over bones, and her face was pallid and lusterless. Richard sat next to her and took her cold hand in his.

"Mother?" he said, counting the space in between her breaths. _One, two, three, four, breath, one, two, three, four, five, breath. . . ._ "Mother, it's me. It's Richard."

"Richard?" she muttered vaguely, eyelids fluttering. _One, two, breath, one, two, three, four, five, breath. . . ._ "You weren't supposed to _know._"

He swallowed effortfully, jaw clenching. "You're going to be all right, do you hear me? I will do whatever it takes to make you well again."

She sighed, eyes open and looking at nothing. "I didn't want you to worry. . . ." she murmured. Richard squeezed her hand, gently.

"I'm not worried." he said softly. "Not now. Not ever. I always knew you'd get better. And you will. So don't you worry, either."

"I don't want to miss the wedding," she said, with a hint of a smile. "I want to have grandchildren."

_One, two, three, four, breath. . . ._

"You . . . didn't miss it." Richard said. "And . . . and you _are_ going to have . . . a grandchild. A boy. I'll let you hold him." Something tickled his cheek and he brushed it away carelessly. "I want you to name him. But you can't name him until you hold him."

"Oh, Richard." Lady Ashendale sighed, patting the back of his hand. "Don't put all your eggs in one basket, darling."

_One, two, three, four, five, breath. . . ._

"I don't know what you mean." Something was tickling both cheeks now. He ran his sleeve over his face and sniffled.

"I'm _dying_, silly." she whispered conspiratorially. "And don't argue."

"I won't let you." he replied. Something dripped off his nose and landed on her bedcovers. "I'll find a way to fix this."

She sighed and closed her eyes—_one, two, three, four, five, six, breath_ —then woke up all over again.

"Are you . . . Death?" she asked softly, gazing at Richard.

"Mother. . . ." he began, voice strained. Her eyes closed again.

"It's all right. I'm not scared."

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, breath. . . ._

"I won't let this happen." Richard said, tears dripping from his face. "I _won't_."

He waited eight seconds until she took one more breath, then kissed her on the forehead and departed.

* * *

><p>"Maikos?" said Catherine, catching up to him in the hallway. They were both red-faced and out of breath. "Anything?"<p>

The servant shook his head. "Nothing. No one even saw him leave."

"Gods damn it." Catherine hissed. "Where could he have gone? It isn't like him, to run off on his mother like this. He should _be_ here."

"Unless. . . ." Maikos began, but Catherine had already taken off running again. He watched her go. "Unless he's doing something _really_ stupid."

* * *

><p>His breath rasped in his lungs and tasted like blood, the trees whipped at his face, cold water splashed over his bare feet, his heart thundered in his ears. He ran until he fell and could not get up again.<p>

"I did _everything_ you asked!" he screamed, striking the ground with his fist. "Everything you wanted!" He gasped, crumpling sideways against a tree, shivering. "I never even asked why."

A figure coalesced from the gloom, three green dots glowing out from its forehead. Richard stared at it dispassionately.

"I suppose I have _you_ to thank for all this."

"Richard Ashendale," said the figure, in the voice of an old man, sketching a bow, "we meet at last."

"And a fat lot of good it does me." he snapped. "Why don't you make yourself useful? Just because _I_ can't do anything doesn't mean _you_ can't. And I did what you asked, though Gods know it almost killed me."

The figure shook its head. "I am sorry, Richard. But I never guaranteed—"

"You as good as did!" he cried, hauling himself to his feet. "And now look at me. I threw away _everything_ I had because I thought it would save her. Because _you_ made me _think_ it would save her. And now I find out, _now_ I find out that it didn't make a _difference?_"

"I am truly sorry. What I told you was true. Your mother was being poisoned, and only your marriage would stop it."

"Which, by the way, makes _no_ sense."

"Of course it does." the old man retorted. "Use your _head_."

"What do you. . . ." Richard stopped, staring at the man with three glowing orbs protruding from his forehead. "My mother, poisoned. And only my marriage could stop it. And the only people with a vested interest in my marriage. . . ."

"Now you're getting it."

"My father, and . . . Catherine. But Father would never. . . ."

"Correct." the old man replied. "He wouldn't."

Richard stared at the man, and kept on staring. "That _bitch_." he spat.

"And do remind yourself of when your powers disappeared."

"After the wedding. Which means—" He brought his left hand up to his face, stared at the gold ring on his third finger. "This isn't just a ring, is it. It's a binding. That _bitch!_ I'll _kill _her!"

"You'll kill who?" someone behind him said. The old man had vanished, and Richard turned to see Catherine standing before him, smiling gently. "You took so pitifully long to figure it out, I thought I'd have to tell you myself."

"You _bitch! I'll kill you!_" Richard roared, flinging himself at her. But suddenly rage turned to shock, and shock to agony as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach. Something in Catherine's hand glinted coldly. "You . . . you _stabbed_ me." he gasped, staring up at her.

"Technically you ran into my knife. But yes, I stabbed you. Which is silly, because you should have been able to turn this knife to butter by now."

"Don't mock me." he growled, then convulsed in pain, his whole body drawing inwards toward the wound in his stomach.

"Or what?" she said, and grinned. "You don't have any of your little tricks left, do you, Dick? I made absolutely sure of that. It's a pity, about your mother—we didn't mean to kill her, but it seems she just wasn't strong enough to recover from the poison. Good idea about the healers, though. We intercepted quite a _lot_ of letters. You must have been really concerned."

"You stopped . . . my _letters?_" he gasped, blood leaking out from between his thin fingers.

"Not stopped. Just intercepted, read, and sent on their way. I daresay someone's replied by now, and is sending their best healer to take care of your mother. Although it'll be a miracle if she makes it through the night. It's too bad you won't get to say goodbye. Then again, you also won't have to see her die, so I suppose it balances out."

"Stop talking." Richard ordered, pulling himself onto his hands and knees. "What do you _want?_ Why . . . all this . . . _why?_"

"There was quite a lot of money in it, for me." Catherine said, sitting by his side. "For my father, too. Land holdings, family money, that sort of thing. For your father? Well, I suppose he just wanted a better heir."

"I will _murder_ . . . all of you . . . and your families. . . ." His arms were shaking, and he breathed only in quick, painful gasps.

"I highly doubt that. I'm going to give you two choices." She raised the dagger and touched the bloody point first to one finger, then another. "I can kill you now, quickly and painlessly. Which is quite kind of me, considering. Or, I can leave you here, and you can try to make your way back to your happy home before you bleed to death. There might even be a healer waiting for you. Any thoughts?"

Richard spat on her, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. "Go to hell." he said.

"I _see._" she said, joviality gone. She stood, sighed, and shoved Richard's shoulder with her foot, hard. He fell onto his side, scrabbling at the dirt like an overturned turtle. Then the knife plunged into his abdomen again, and twisted, and he screamed, the sound scattering birds from the trees. "I'll see you back at the house, darling." Catherine sang, and kissed him on the forehead. "If you make it back, I might even be convinced to name the baby after you. I'll call him Clarence."

"Nothing . . . you can do . . . will save you. . . ." he hissed, glaring at her with fire in his eyes.

"It's cute, how you think you'll survive this. Goodbye, Dick. It's been fun. Really." In a flurry of white skirts, she vanished into the forest. Richard whimpered, clutching at the twin wounds in his belly, trying to hold his hot blood inside even as it poured out over his fingers. The world had gone blurry, and the pain was so immense he could scarcely think.

Then, slowly, he pushed himself onto his knees, put his bloodied right hand forward, and began to drag himself homeward.

* * *

><p>He could smell dirt. It was the strongest smell he thought he had ever encountered, that earthy, rich, <em>dirt<em> smell. It was probably because his face was pressed into the mud. He couldn't feel his toes, or his legs, or anything, really, except for the two white-hot steel balls of pain in his abdomen, and even those were dimming. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision, and breathing was agony. But he could see his house, up on the hill, so close and yet so very, very far, tinged with the first pink light of dawn.

He gasped in another horrible, burning lungful of air and pulled himself forward, his body sliding along the boggy ground. His face dropped into the mud again with a _splat_, and the darkness came closer, narrowing his vision to a tiny circle. All he could see was dirt. All he could smell was dirt. All he could taste was dirt. And the only thing he could feel was that terrible pain, and even that was fading.

He heard a rhythmic squelching sound, and it took him a moment to realize that someone was running towards him. He tried to pull his head out of the mud, but found his muscles would no longer obey him. Strong arms grabbed him around the shoulders and turned him onto his back. He could see the sky, rose-tinted purple, the last stars of morning fading into the brightness of day, not a cloud in sight. He smelled sweat, and a distinctive tang of pipe tobacco.

"Maikos," he whispered. He couldn't hear his own voice. Someone's big, bald head was in the way of his stars, his sky.

"Hold on, Lord Richard." The words came from a hundred miles away, leaking slowly through his consciousness. "Just hold on a few more minutes. Look at me. Richard, look at me!"

"They're . . . beautiful. . . ." he said softly, and tried to stretch out an arm to point at the stars. He could only see one, now, but he knew there were others, up there, somewhere, hiding from him. His arm didn't move, but the pain in his belly came back for a moment, and he gasped and whimpered.

"Come on. I'm right here, look at me. Your mother's waiting up for you, Richard. She's waiting for you to come home. Just hold on, just a little longer, everything's going to be okay."

Suddenly, Richard found some last reserve of strength and clutched Maikos' shirt, dragging him down until his hairy ear was next to Richard's mouth.

"C— . . . C—" he stammered. He was falling, but very, very slowly. "C—. . . Kitty. . . ." he gasped.

The hand holding Maikos went limp and fell away. Suddenly the servant was holding a delicate, long-limbed doll—broken, cast aside. The head sagged back, the eyes closed, and a sigh passed through the white lips. But it looked almost peaceful, cradled there in Maikos's arms, with the first warm ray of sunshine bursting over the horizon.

Maikos stared, unbelieving. "Richard. . . ." he whispered, as tears gathered in his eyes.

Then he buried his face in the narrow chest of his dead master and sobbed.


	11. Chapter 11

**I hope you realize how rotten I'm spoiling you.**

* * *

><p>"There's just one thing I don't understand." Maikos said, tugging on his right sideburn. Catherine sat at the window of her room, embroidering the Ashendale family crest onto a little white square of cloth. Every so often she would glance up and stare wistfully, regretfully, out the window at the village of granite tombs to the north of the estate.<p>

"Hm?" she said, fingers working mechanically.

"How in the thirteen hells did you get pregnant?"

"The usual way, I suppose."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Maikos said, waving a hand. He was sitting close by her, watching her work. "I _know_ Lord Richard."

"Knew."

"I _know_ him."

"Maikos, he's _gone._ None of us want to believe it, but it's what happened."

The servant shook his head. "It's not a matter of belief, Miss Catherine. It's a matter of hedging my bets. If he really _is_ gone, I lose nothing by it. And if he isn't. . . ."

"It's not possible. I'm sorry, Maikos, but it just isn't possible. He was stabbed twice. A doctor proclaimed him dead, and a healer explicitly told us that he was long beyond saving."

Maikos' face darkened. "I'm not disputing he's dead, miss. I'm disputing whether or not he's gone."

Catherine rolled her eyes and went back to her needlework. "Go on, then. You _know_ Richard."

"Yes. And I know how very little he knows about . . . this sort of thing."

"And?"

"There's no way that child is his. There is simply no way. So whose is it?"

Catherine sighed, face drawn with concern. "Don't tell anyone, please, Maikos? It would make things . . . difficult. And it could get nasty, especially for the baby."

"I think you should be more worried about yourself." he replied, eyebrows raised. "People try to be civilized around here, but it doesn't always work. You've gotten yourself in over your head here, if I may be so bold."

"I could theoretically tell you that you mayn't, but I don't think it would do any good. So no, the child isn't Richard's. But it _is_ mine. And that is all that matters to me. If the truth were to come out . . . there's no telling what could happen to the baby. My son. He could be thrown out onto the streets, or abandoned in the woods, or . . . or killed! I can't let that happen. You understand, don't you?" She looked out the window, pausing in her work. The round wooden frame rested on her swollen belly, like a tiny crown on some giant's head.

"I understand that, yes. I don't understand why you chose to take the risk." His eyes narrowed and he leaned in closer to her. "Unless, somehow, you _knew_ Lord Richard would be leaving us shortly."

"Don't be ridiculous, Maikos. His death was as much a shock to me as it was to any of us." She sighed, tucked her hair behind her ears. "I knew him fairly well myself. It becomes pretty obvious when certain things just aren't going to get done."

"So you took matters into your own hands?"

"So to speak."

"And you'll refuse to name the real father?"

"Absolutely. The whole world can go on pretending it's Richard's until the day I die. The child won't know any different, certainly." She turned round, pleading eyes on Maikos. "Please, please promise me you won't tell. I don't care what happens to me, but don't let them hurt my son."

Maikos pursed his lips, then looked away. "I promise. But I'm not the only one who will figure this out. I can't promise to keep you safe. I can only promise to keep my own mouth shut."

She smiled, put a hand on his arm. "That's all I ask. Thank you, Maikos. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You may have to learn." he said quietly, and she either didn't hear him or pretended she hadn't.

* * *

><p>Lady Ashendale sat on a sun-warmed stone bench in the cemetery, hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast. There was a marble tomb just across from her, the ground around it still pocked from the passing of many feet.<p>

"It's not fair, what you did." she said at last. "I should much rather have died than bury you."

A gentle wind stroked her hair and played with the fringe of her black dress. She sighed, and smiled gently.

"They called it a miracle, how I survived. But I know the truth—it was you. You did something, Gods only know what, and you saved me. And I would be grateful. But the price was too high. Far too high."

_Too damn high,_ something whispered. Lady Ashendale stood swiftly, looking around herself—but she was alone.

"Hello?" she said, voice quavering. The wind-tossed trees made shimmering curtains out of their leaves, the motion of them dizzying. "Is someone there?"

The wind hissed and whispered, humming softly in her ears. Lady Ashendale turned to face the tomb, eyes wide and bright with swallowed tears. "Richard, if you can hear me. . . ." she began, then paused. Taking a few quick steps nearer, she placed a hand against the sealed door and said, "Come back, Richard. Come home. If you could beat Death once, you can do it again."

The wind hissed in her ears. She looked around nervously, shivered, drew her shawl closed; then, with a final look around the deserted cemetery, she made her way slowly back to the house.

* * *

><p>Winter came and went, and with spring, the baby.<p>

Maikos paced, quick and agitated. Pained murmurs and the occasional scream emanated from the door. Every so often he would stop to listen, turn white, and continue pacing. Eventually he sat down across the hall and twiddled his thumbs.

Just as midday passed, the door finally opened, and a large, sweaty woman, hands bloodied, stepped out.

"You, servant." she said. Maikos clambered to his feet. "Bring me a washing bowl."

"Is it—?" he began, but she cut him off with an imperious wave of her meaty hand.

"The baby's fine, so's mother. Washing bowl. Now."

Maikos bobbed his head, suppressing a relieved smile. As he scuttled off, the sound of a crying baby could be heard from within the room.

"Oh, hush now," said Catherine, cradling the baby against her chest. "You beautiful thing. What do you have to cry about?"

Lady Ashendale sat by her side, looking exhausted, yet smiling. "May I hold him?" she asked eventually.

"Of course." Catherine replied. "He's your grandson, after all."

The older woman took the child into her arms carefully, smiling down into his face. "He is beautiful. He has his father's eyes."

Catherine leaned her head back against her stack of sweat-soaked pillows. "He wanted you to name him." she said softly. "I don't know if you remember."

"I remember." Lady Ashendale replied. "Of course I remember. And now I've held him, I can name him."

"I trust you with this," Catherine said, eyes half-closed. "So don't name him Clarence."

"I wouldn't dream of it." the lady replied. "No, he'll be . . . Nicholas."

"Nicholas." Catherine repeated, tasting the name. "A simple name. We'll hope for a simple life to match."

The child began crying sad little squeaks of misery, and Lady Ashendale handed the him back to Catherine, who accepted him like a missing limb. "There, now, don't cry." Catherine murmured to him. "Mommy's here. Mommy's right here. Everything's going to be all right."

* * *

><p>The first thing he noticed was that it was very warm. He vaguely remembered being in vast amounts of pain, and falling, but mostly what he remembered was waking up on this warm rock floor about fifteen seconds ago. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head, and opened his eyes.<p>

"Oh." he said, looking around. "I suppose this shouldn't come as much of a shock."

He was in a vast cave, walls lit red by huge pits of magma and tornadic columns of flame, littered with implements of torture, each one manned by a red-skinned demon more hideous than the last. A shadow fell over him, and he turned and looked up, and up, and up, into the snarling dog-face of the most gigantic demon of all.

It was seven feet tall, at the inside, and its bulky shoulders were three feet across. Massive wings sprouted from its back, fanning slowly in and out in the hot currents of air. Its legs were like those of a goat, ending in huge, black, cloven hooves, and massive bull horns sprouted from its forehead and curved back over its skull.

"Welcome to hell." it said, in an uncharacteristically mild voice.

"Hi, I'd like a double cheeseburger, no onion, no mayo." he spouted blithely, picking himself up off the scorching floor. The demon gave him a quizzical look.

"What?" it said.

"What?" he parroted. "I honestly have no idea what just came out of my mouth."

The demon shook its head. "I am the Qetzatl, Lord of the Thirteenth Hell, where those who murder the innocent are imprisoned."

"Ah, so I _am_ in hell." he said, scratching his chin. "I know some atheists who're going to be _pissed_ about this one." He gave the demon lord a critical look. "I suppose you fit the part, though. A little too well, if you ask me. I think you're ripping off the Bloodrage, but maybe its the other way around. Do you know anything about that, or is it a, 'we don't talk about that' sort of situation?"

Quetzatl, Lord of the Thirteenth Hell, narrowed his yellow glowing eyes. "You are by _far_ the most talkative damned soul I've ever met."

"Soul?" he retorted. "_Soul?_ I think that's going a bit far." He turned, hands on hips, and surveyed the lowest level of hell, spread out around him in a sanguine tableau. "Do you ever get the feeling you're not _really_ here?" he asked.

"I'm . . . sorry?" said the demon lord.

"You know." he waved his hands vaguely. "Like who you think you are is just an avatar, a tiny figurine laid out on a paper playing field, and the _real_ you is sitting at a table somewhere, just a weedy little guy in glasses with bad teeth, rolling a handful of many-sided die and drinking fizzy drinks out of green bottles. Do you ever get that feeling?"

The demon sighed. "Usually it takes a few years before the madness sets in."

"Madness?" he asked, then grinned wildly. "_This is SPARTA!_" And he kicked the demon lord in the abdomen as hard as he could, knocking himself over backwards. Qetzatl stood rock-steady and glared. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. I knew it was a terrible idea and I went ahead and did it anyway."

"What is your name, soul?" Qetzatl growled, crossing its massive arms in front of its barrel chest.

"Name? Right, I have one of those, don't I. I can't seem to remember at the moment. Give me a second, I'm sure it'll come back. Can I have a hint?"

The demon lord glowered.

"I think it was Richard." the soul replied quickly, with a fleeting nervous smile. "Richard Ashendale. With no middle name. I'm sure of it."

"You were a wizard, weren't you." Qetzatl said flatly. "I should have known. _Wizards,_" it opined.

"Not technically. I think you have to be trained to be a wizard. They give you a license or something. Listen, before I start in on my eternity of damnation, I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you."

Qetzatl raised one brow ridge. "I think you've had quite enough quick words as it is."

"Those weren't important. Listen, I've heard stories about demons—lords of hell, specifically. You get more powerful the more souls you have in your little circle, right? _We-ell,_ I was thinking you and I might come to some kind of accord." He steepled his fingers and smiled. "Mutually beneficial. You let me out, and I'll kill every murderer I meet and send their shriveled excuses for souls straight down here to you. I think that's fair, don't you?"

"You will not leave." the demon growled. "Nobody leaves. There is no deal." It took one long, ground-shaking step forward.

"All right! All right! No deal. Fine, I can accommodate. What about the levels of hell above this one? Surely it's not too much trouble to let me move freely between them?" he said, backing away slowly, palms held out in a gesture of peace.

"There is _no deal._" the Qetzatl repeated, still advancing.

"I get it, just listen. This is a much better deal. What do you say to having me skip on up there to the twelfth hell and killing the demon up there? Then you can pop up and claim all its souls for yourself. What about that?"

The demon lord stopped and laughed. "I say you are a fool. No one can kill a lord of hell."

"_Twelfth _is a funny word." he muttered to himself. "So many consonants at the end. Oh, right. _Except_ another lord of hell. Right? Cheaper-by-the-dozen up there could pop down here any time he liked and kill you. But—and I don't mean to brag, stop me if I'm bragging—I personally am almost as powerful as you. Almost. I'm not bragging here."

"What are you trying to say?" Qetzatl asked, smoke curling from its long snout.

"Well, if you could lend me just a little bit of your power, I could, _theoretically_, hop up to the twelfth hell and kill its lord." He winced slightly and said, "Gah, _twelfth._ It's like all the consonants got into a crash on my face."

"Impossible. He is almost twice as powerful as I am."

"Oh." Richard seemed downcast. "Well, it was a good plan, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans . . . or at least I hope you do, because I don't. Go on! Eternal torment, all that jazz. I'm sure most moral codes agree I deserve it."

"Shut _up._" the demon lord said. "I'm trying to think."

"By all means. I'm sure it must be a novel and invigorating experience."

"You must swear a solemn oath." Qetzatl said grimly, glowering down at Richard. "You must swear to only use your power to kill the Lord of the Twelfth Hell, and for no other purpose. If you will swear that to me, I will take your deal."

"Really?" said Richard, crossing his arms. "This seems to easy. What does a 'solemn oath' entail, exactly?"

The demon lord shrugged. "It is impossible to break."

"What, you mean, like, physically impossible? Some magic power will stop me from breaking my promise?"

"That's exactly it." Qetzatl replied.

"Oh." Richard said. "That's kind of . . . boring. I was hoping for _consequences. _ But what can you threaten someone with when they're already burning in hell? Fine. I'll swear your oath."

Qetzatl put out a huge, clawed hand. "Place your hand in mine." it said. Richard complied. "Now swear upon your blood and bones you will only use this power to kill the demon lord of the Twelfth Hell."

Richard took a deep breath. "I swear to only use your power to kill the demon lord." he said slowly, and grinned like a flashbulb.

There was something like an explosion, radiating heat and light like molten gold, pouring forth from Qetzatl into Richard. He screamed, remembering pain, and fell to the floor, smoldering and shaking. Qetzatl staggered, but remained on his hooves.

"Now go," it said, wings spread wide for balance. "Do as you have sworn to do."

Suddenly Richard laughed. "Oh, with _gusto,_ my demon lord." he said. White lightning shot from his fingers and a high, manic laugh burst from his lips. Qetzatl exploded into ash and gristle, and little bits of its body rained down all over the fiery pits of hell. All motion stopped, and every last soul and demon in the Thirteenth Hell watched in awe as Richard pulled himself off the floor, still grinning like a maniac.

"All right, everybody listen up!" he cried, voice unnaturally loud. "I just killed a lord of hell. If anyone has a problem with that, you can take a number and get in line, and I'm sure I'll get around to killing you just as soon as I'm done escaping from hell. As for the rest of you," he stretched luxuriously, lightning crackling out over his arms, "feel free to tag along. I'm going to need backup dancers anyway."

One of the demons took a hesitant step forward. "You mean to—" It suddenly burst into flame, swelled to the size of a small elephant, and went off like a firework, showering its neighbors with bits of red flesh. Richard looked at the ceiling and slowly put his smoking hand behind his back.

"He mysteriously exploded." he said innocently. "We'll never know why."

"You're breaking out of hell?" another demon asked, rooted firmly to its spot. "Is that . . . _possible?_"

"Look, I don't mean to interrupt the Q & A session, but you guys aren't exactly invited."

There was a general rustling of wings and shuffling of hooves. Nervous claws slid out from red-skinned fingers.

"Unless, of course, you can make yourselves useful." Richard continued. "In which case, I just might be able to see my way clear to unleashing you onto the world above, where you can wreak just as much havoc as your hearts or analogues thereof desire."

"And us?" croaked a soul, disentangling itself from a suddenly unmanned pit of spikes. "What about us?"

"I told you already." Richard said. "Backup dancers. Oh, and you'll have to be my undead minions for the rest of eternity, but that's secondary."

The souls who could see each other exchanged glances.

"Better than here." said the first, and kneeled. "Lead us, my lord."

Richard chuckled. "Oh, I _like_ this. This is going to be the best day ever." He stopped and considered, one hand on his chin. "Probably. Assuming I can ever remember the ones before this."

Then he raised one hand and sent a bolt of lightning cracking up to the ceiling, and where it struck, the cave roof toppled downward, arranging itself into a spiral staircase.

"_Sweet,_" said Richard. "Let's get the hell out of here."


	12. Chapter 12

The soul poked his sandy-haired head up through the hole in the stone floor, looking around cautiously.

"Level Five?" he said, emerging slightly further. "Any surprise decapitations?"

Nothing happened. He turned and yelled back down the hole, "Aye, this one's clear, Lord Richard!"

"Well then get up there!" Richard called from below. "I haven't figured out how to make these staircases any wider."

The soul clambered out through the hole in the floor and stared around himself, face pinched. The walls were a slightly more pastel red than the lower levels, and there were no pits of magma to be seen. He sighed, his shoulders slumping.

With a hiss, something silver arced through the air and neatly sliced his head from his shoulders. He crumbled into a little pile of ash on the ground. Richard, just emerging from the hole, dropped back down below the level of the floor.

"A _surprise_ surprise decapitation." he said over his shoulder to the soul behind him. "Classy. Hey up there!" he called. "I come in peace, I guess." Turning back to the soul again, he asked, "Am I doing it right?"

The soul shrugged. "Sounds right so far, my lord."

"Don't just say that because you think I'll be mad if you don't." Richard insisted, wagging a finger at the soul. "Because if I get surprise decapitated, I really _am_ going to be mad."

The soul gulped nervously. "Er, you could be a bit more assertive, my lord." he said.

"Assertive. Right. _Okay,_ I'm coming up now!" Richard called, and hoisted himself up through the hole. Behind him, a single-file line of ten thousand souls stretched down the spiral stair and away into the red-hazed distance.

Landing on his feet, Richard looked around critically, one hand on his hip.

"One, two, three, _duck!_" he commented to himself, just as a silver blade went whizzing over his head. "Now that was _not_ very polite!" he admonished. "And here _I _am, only trying to help."

Before him stood a massive demon, hog-faced and barrel-chested, its black wings fanned out in full, smoke rising from its black cloven hooves. "Do not think I will fall for your tricks, wizard." it snarled. "The Demon Lord of the Fifth Hell is no fool."

"Of course not!" Richard said, hands raised, palms out in a placating gesture. "Nobody said you were." He turned to the soul which had been standing behind him. "Did anyone say this lovely specimen here was a fool?" he asked.

"Er, _you—_" the soul began, when it suddenly burst into flames and ran away screaming bloody murder.

"That keeps happening." Richard said, scratching his chin. "They just go up like that for no reason." He turned back to the demon lord with an ingratiating smile. "As I was saying, nobody _intelligent_ here thinks you're a fool."

"I have seen what you did to those before me." the demon lord asserted. "And your rein stops here."

"Oh dear." said Richard. "That's going to be a problem, you see, because here I've gone and promised all these souls I was going to set them free from hell. They're going to be _quite_ displeased about that. Remind me, again, whose souls are kept in the fifth hell?"

"Wielders of black magic." the demon lord replied. "But I don't—"

"Boy, for someone who isn't a fool, you sure are stupid." Richard said, and grinned.

The demon lord looked around himself and saw a mass of souls circled around him, staring with glowing eyes.

"Would you look at that." Richard said, shaking his head slowly. "How many would you say there are? Three hundred? Four? All these people with their massive amounts of power being suppressed by . . . oh, something around here. I'm sure I can break it, whatever it is."

The demon's skin looked much paler than it had a few moments ago. "What do you want?" it asked.

"I want a lot of things." Richard replied. "A coat of arms made out of real arms, a giant robot kitten, a pillaging shovel . . . but mostly what I want right now is to watch these people kill you." he said. "So first I'm going to break whatever you're using to keep them in check. Then I'm going to sit back on my soul-throne and watch."

"No, please—" the demon stammered, taking a step back.

"Can't _he~ar you!_" Richard sang. He stretched his arms out to the side while lightning crackled between his fingers. "Not over the sound of how awesome this is going to be."

The air began to shimmer, and smelled of ozone. The demon lord roared and leapt at Richard, only to be flung backwards by a massive bolt of electricity that struck from nowhere. Suddenly, a large gem set into the high stone ceiling exploded in a torrent of flaming shards, raining down upon the crowd of souls.

Richard smirked, and said simply, "Get 'im."

* * *

><p>Through a cloud of thick, acrid smoke, a black-robed soul approached Richard and bowed. He was pale of face, his eyes steel-gray and piercing.<p>

"My lord," he said softly, "the demon lord is dead."

"I think he was dead five minutes ago, but far be it from me to discourage overkill." Richard replied. He was seated on a wobbling stack of souls, arranged roughly into the shape of a throne. "But I guess we should be moving on anyways."

"Indeed." said the soul, hanging at Richard's left elbow as he propelled himself off his soul-throne and began striding towards the smoldering remains. "My lord, will you hear a brief message?"

"Probably, unless something deafening happens." Richard replied, then put his hands on his hips and gazed critically at the ceiling. "I have _got_ to figure out how to make those staircases wider."

"I am—or was—a member of a powerful sect, which I believe may interest you. We are a legion of sorts—a consortium of powerful warlocks, formed to wage war on the light."

"A sect, you say?" Richard said, raising an eyebrow. "Is it a _dangerous_ sect?"

The soul looked puzzled. "I . . . as a fraternity of the most powerful instruments of black magic, I would suppose it is quite dangerous."

"No can do, guy. Mother always told me to practice safe sects."

The soul gaped at him. Richard snapped his fingers and brightened considerably.

"Ah! I think I just figured out how to make the staircase wider. Stand back—I'm about to try _science!_"

He raised his arms, fingers splayed, and glared at the ceiling. A line of white fire shot from his fingertips and split the ceiling wide open. As the blocks crumbled, they fell into the shape of a sweeping grand stair, complete with banisters and volutes. Richard clapped his hands together and grinned.

"This is _so cool!_" he cried, and went dashing up the staircase, bare feet slapping against the smooth stone.

The pale-eyed soul sighed, looking mildly concerned, then followed slowly.

* * *

><p>Light streamed down from the top of the red stone staircase, pale and golden, catching motes of ash as they floated through the air, illuminating the smoke and making it glow from within.<p>

"You see that?" Richard said to the pale-eyed warlock, one arm draped around his shoulder. "That right there, my friend, is _daylight._"

Behind the two of them, a sea of hundreds of thousands of souls murmured amongst themselves, stretching off into the distance, not an end to them in sight. Richard slowly ascended the stairs towards the streaming daylight, gesticulating with one hand, grinning lazily.

"You see, once you get into the swing of things, it really isn't hard. All of these demons are terrific idiots, if you catch them off-balance. So here I am, undeniably brilliant and inarguably the most powerful creature in all of the Thirteen Hells, and what am I going to do with it?"

"What, my lord?" the soul inquired dutifully.

"I'm going to delegate it to _you_." Richard said. His hand tightened on the pale-eyed man's shoulder when he tried to pull away. "I've got far more important things to do than look after all these murderous traitors and their lesser-sinning cousins. So while I may be Lord of the Thirteen Hells, indisputable ruler of all that is infernal, _you_ can be my secretary. And in return, I _won't_ turn you into a smoldering pile of ash. How's that?"

The soul gulped. "Very fair, my lord."

"I thought so too. But then I thought, 'three hundred thousand is quite a lot of minions. Do I really _need_ three _hundred thousand_ minions?' And what do you think I decided?"

After a moment, the soul replied, "You would much rather have the best hundred thousand."

"Exactly!" Richard cried, slapping the soul on the back. "This is going to be a beautiful subservient relationship." He cleared his throat and turned to face the sea of three hundred thousand sinners, then whistled so loudly the walls rang. Silence fell. "Yeah, so I can only take about a hundred thousand of you guys out with me." he said. "I'll give you an hour to sort it out amongst yourselves."

The calm sea instantly became a roiling mess of fighting bodies, dust clouds rising like smoke from a bonfire. Richard put his hands on his hips and turned back to the door.

"I never really thought I would _miss_ sunlight." he said, climbing the last few steps. He could see out the portal, where snow piled deep around the trunks of budding trees. "But I do. I'm going on ahead. In an hour, follow me with the survivors."

"But—"

"Toodles!" Richard said, and stepped out the door into a strange in-between world, where the snow-covered ground began just inches before his own bare feet, but retreated when he tried to step onto it. The walls of the cave surrounded him still, but he could feel snowflakes whispering past his face.

Before him stood a figure in a black robe, a long, polished scythe held in one bony hand.

_Hello again, Richard,_ it said, its voice echoing off of nothing.

"Hi." said Richard. "Long time, no see. How're things?"

_You know I cannot allow you to leave._

"Actually, I'm not so sure on that count." Richard replied, taking a step forward. His toe brushed the retreating snow. "See, I just killed thirteen demon lords in very quick succession. The ninth one gave me this nifty gem where I can put all the excess power so it doesn't rip me to shreds." He indicated a diamond-shaped, reddish stone that hung from his neck. "It's really convenient. Never let it be said that demon lords aren't _accommodating_ when you threaten to hang them from their own entrails. Except Lord Four. But he made a pretty good piñata, so I can't hold it against him."

_No one escapes death,_ said the figure, _not even you._

"Speaking of which," Richard said, taking another step towards the black-robed figure. The snow scurried backwards away from him. "The whole time I was down there, I kept a close eye out for people I recognized. One person was notably missing. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

_Your mother? Of course. Her time is not yet over._

"All those times you came lurking around with your cryptic warnings, those weren't about Mother, were they? They were about me."

_I thought you would have figured it out sooner,_ Death replied with a shrug. _I couldn't be sure of the exact timing._

"Oh, of course not." Richard's fists clenched and his eyes narrowed. "Enough small-talk. Let me out or I'll crush you, too."

_Even you cannot kill Death,_ the black-robed figure replied, shifting both skeletal hands onto his scythe.

Richard took a single step forward, and his foot pinned the snow to the ground. The tunnel behind him rushed backwards into the distance and vanished, leaving him and Death alone in a wide, snowy field.

"_Challenge accepted,_" he growled, and touched the gem around his neck. White light exploded from it, engulfing him and the robed figure of Death, clearing the snow in a wide circle around them. When the light faded and the powdered snow cleared from the air, Richard and Death stood at opposite ends of the circle, eyes sharp upon each other. Death's scythe glowed blue along the edge, and hummed in the air; lightning crackled along Richard's arms, and his outline quavered against the frigid air.

_You have been busy,_ Death commented, turning his scythe ever so slightly.

"Very." Richard replied.

_Then let us decide this, once and for all._

Richard grinned. "Come at me, bro." he said.

Death rushed forward, his black robe trailing into smoke at his feet. Richard flung a bolt of lightning at him, which he dodged seemingly without effort. Six more lightning bolts followed, each causing only a slight deviation in the path of the flying skeleton. The scythe sliced downward, tearing the air open as it went. Richard leapt to one side, hearing the blade hum past his ear. He landed hard on his side, cupped his hands together, and breathed into them. Death swung his scythe downward, and Richard flung a fireball into his chest, knocking him backwards. Richard leapt to his feet and struck black-robed Death with three bolts of lightning before he even hit the ground. The scythe went flying from the skeletal fingers, twirling through the air, landing twenty feet away and sliding in circles through the snow. Death began to sit up, when Richard's foot came down hard on his sternum, pressing him into the snow.

"You dropped your scythe." he said.

_What do you hope to accomplish?_ Death asked, his bare teeth clacking together, the black holes of his eye-sockets glowing with a soft blue light. _Freedom?_

"That's the general idea."

_There will be no freedom for you._ Death replied calmly. _Not now, and not ever._

"We'll see about that. Say, if I kill you, can people still die?"

_You cannot kill me. You may defeat me for a time, long enough to escape back to the realm of the living, but I can never truly be killed._

"Good enough for me." Richard pressed down hard and Death's ribcage crunched. "Do you feel pain?"

_Not as such, no._ Death replied. _Are you finished? I'm a busy fellow._

"I'm sure you are." Richard reeled his leg back, grinned like a maniac, and punted Death's head far over the horizon, one hand shading his eyes from the glare of the watery sun.

"Touchdown." he said, putting his hands on his hips and smirking. The smile slowly faded, and he put a hand to his head. "Whoah, I feel fun—" And he collapsed in a small, dark heap on the ground.

When he woke, it was night, and the sky was dusted with a hundred trillion stars, peering impassively down at him. He attempted to rise and heard something crack.

"Nobody said 'freeze,'" he commented through clenched teeth. Steam began to rise off of him, and then he erupted in flame. He rose, brushing off his arms, as slowly the fire went out. "That's much better." he said. "I suppose one of the problems with not having body heat is—who am I talking to?" He shook his head sadly. "I hope this isn't going to become a habit."

Richard held up one finger, peered at it for a moment until blue fire shot from its tip, then cut a perfect circle in the air with it. The interior of the circle fell inward like a pane of glass, revealing a red, rocky tunnel.

"_Awesome,_" said Richard, and stepped through the hole. "Honey, I'm home!" he called. He waited a moment, then frowned. Stepping out of the hallway and into the wide atrium, he commented, "Awful quiet in here. Oh."

Before him was a sea of ash, piled in drifts and waves. Not a single soul was to be seen among it. At his feet, the pale-eyed warlock soul slowly struggled against a scythe that had been driven through his chest and into the stone steps behind him. He looked up, mildly miffed, and said, "Hello, my lord."

"It's been more than an hour, hasn't it." Richard said tonelessly.

"At least four hours, my lord." the soul replied. "But I think they had all destroyed each other by hour three."

"And how did that scythe get in your chest?" Richard inquired, looking down upon the soul.

"I believe it was Death, my lord." he answered.

"Did he say anything?"

"I'm . . . sorry?"

"Did he say anything when he stabbed you? You know, one-liners, anything like that?"

"I . . . don't believe so, my lord."

"Some people have no class." Richard said, exasperated, and turned to leave.

"My lord!" the soul cried. "What about me?"

Richard turned his head. "What about you?" he asked.

"Am I not coming with you?" There was a note of panic in his voice.

"Nope." said Richard, and casually tossed a fireball over his shoulder, incinerating the soul in an instant. "If I'm going to have thousands of undead minions, they'll be mine from death to life."

Something tugged on the third finger of his left hand. He looked down and smirked.

"Timing couldn't have been better." he said.

* * *

><p>The graveyard was cold, lit in colorless relief by the moon and the bright white snow. Two dark figures stalked through the night, huddled against the chill, their breath puffing ahead of them like smoke signals.<p>

"This ain't right," one said to the other, as he knelt before the large tomb in the center of the graveyard. "And it sure as hell ain't smart."

"Shut up and work." the other growled. "I ain't havin' any more of your damned superstition."

"Ain't superstition." the first mumbled, prying at the door to the tomb with a crowbar. It slid open slowly, brushing aside the snow to reveal the dark ground beneath. "'S open. Can I go now?"

"No. Get in there." said the second man, shoving the first sharply in the backside with his foot. The kneeling man fell flat on his face inside the tomb, where it was too dark to see anything.

"Lantern." the first man called, pulling himself to his feet and holding out a hand. "And what if there's nothin' in here?" he asked, accepting the lantern. "What if we come all this way for nothin'?"

"What part of 'shut up and work' din't you understand?" the second demanded, lurching into the tomb behind him. He pointed a thick-fingered hand. "That one. Most recent."

The first man shook his head, setting down his lantern. "Best we'll get off him is his weddin' ring. And what's that worth? _Hrrrnk._ Oi Tom, this thing's heavy."

"Let me, then." said Tom, shoving his associate out of the way. He took the crowbar from him and had the stone coffin open in moments. "Hain't been kind to his face, has it?" he asked with a chuckle. "And lookee here, a weddin' ring. Pure gold, I'd say."

"Ain't worth it, Tom." the first man said, now looking pale and sweaty in the lantern light. "I got a bad feelin' about this. A real bad feelin'."

"Hrm, stuck on there, ain't it." Tom said, tugging at the ring on the desiccated finger.

"Tom," the first man squeaked, "Tom, I think I sawr him move!"

"I'll have her off in a jiff, Greg, don't get so hung up. Ain't like he's gonna miss it." The ring suddenly gave and slid off the finger. "Hah! Got her."

Greg was backing away slowly. "Tom—!" he said, gasping for air. "Tom, somethin's wrong. I can feel it. We gotta get out of here."

"Come off it, Greg! Don't be such a bloody—"

The corpse jerked violently, a full-body twitch that thunked it against the inside of the stone coffin. Tom leapt backwards, and the corpse's arms raised straight upward, wrists limp. It sat up slowly, mouth gaping, eyes sightless and wide.

"_Aiii liiiiiiiiiive!_" it cried, voice rattling and rasping in the dead throat. Tom rushed from the room screaming, while Greg fell to his knees, clutching at his chest. The corpse chuckled and vaulted over the side of the coffin, landing on bare feet. It wiggled its toes and stretched. "I'm so glad someone was around to see that." it rasped, then turned its gaze to the grave-robber, crouched on the floor and gasping for breath.

"Congratulations." hissed the corpse, crossing quickly to him. "You have the honor of being my first undead minion."

The last thing Greg saw was a pair of featureless yellow eyes, with neither iris nor pupil, gleaming in the lantern light.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: I know it's been a long time since I posted, but I made up for it with an extra page! Updates will probably cease to be regular, what with finals approaching. Enjoy anyway!**

* * *

><p>Lightning split the sky with a monstrous cracking sound, cleaving open the belly of the clouds and spilling forth a torrential downpour. Lady Ashendale stood near the bay window of the library, firelight illuminating her from behind, her worried face reflected in the darkness of the glass. Her fingers picked restively at the cuffs of her sleeves.<p>

"This isn't natural, Johnathan." she said. Behind her, Lord Ashendale looked up briefly from his book, spectacles perched precariously on his nose. "It was clear as crystal just a moment ago. I've never seen a storm blow in so fast."

"You're overreacting." said Lord Ashendale. "You haven't been sleeping well. You are simply wound too tight."

"Wound too tight? I'll say." she replied, turning from the window. "Poor Nicholas won't stop coughing. He's quite ill, no one will _do_ anything about it."

"It's the first time he's been sick." Lord Ashendale replied, leaning back in his plush armchair and setting down his book. "It's to be expected. He's already three months old." He readjusted to put his stockinged feet nearer the fire.

"The doctors won't help. The healers say he's . . . you've _heard_ what they say about him."

"That he's a healthy young boy with a bit of a cough? You. Are. Overreacting. Calm down, Anna. Come, sit by the fire. You'll catch cold."

"And now this storm." said Lady Ashendale, gesturing to the window with a shaking hand. Thunder rolled like a drum. "Something foul is in this wind, you mark my words."

They fell silent for a moment, painted orange by the warm firelight.

"Come sit by the fire." said Lord Ashendale softly, taking off his spectacles. "I promise you, everything is fine."

The two of them looked at the door for a moment, tense and silent. Then Lady Ashendale sighed, her shoulders slumping, and took a step towards her husband.

It was only then that the door burst open and a man-shaped shadow stalked in, two glowing yellow eyes its only recognizable features.

"_Lucy, you got some explainin' to do!_" it sang in a terrible rasping voice. Lightning snapped past the window, illuminating the face for a frozen moment.

"Richard—!" Lady Ashendale gasped, and fainted on the spot. Thunder rattled the windows in their panes and shook the floor. The shadow turned its gaze to Lord Ashendale, who was standing, half-crouched, with a look of horror plastered on his face.

"Hello, Dad." the shadow hissed. It reeked of blood and lantern oil and the grave. "Miss me?"

"You. . . ." Lord Ashendale gasped, backing away slowly.

"Me." agreed Richard.

"You're dead!" He pointed a violently trembling finger at Richard, eyes wide and gleaming in the firelight.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that." Richard said, striding over and dropping himself into his father's chair. Lord Ashendale scurried away to the nearest corner of the room, sweat beading on his pallid forehead. Thunder growled outside. "I'll admit, I don't remember much from before. I know _you're_ my father," he pointed a long, bone-white finger at the trembling man, then slowly swung his arm to point at the unconscious figure of Lady Ashendale, "and _she's_ my mother, and this—" a sweeping, all-encompassing gesture, "is my . . . _home_, for lack of a better word. And I know I hate a lot more than just three things here. But one of them isn't her." A casual jerk of the thumb to the crumpled woman. "So what else is here, father? I know you didn't kill me yourself. I can remember that much about you."

"Y-you don't know that." Lord Ashendale stammered, drawing himself up to his full height. Richard glared at him, smirking.

"Oh, yes I do. I remember the _eyes,_ father. The soulless eyes of the bastard who stabbed me twice. I will _never_ forget those eyes. So tell me whose they are, and I'll consider killing you quickly."

"You wouldn't _dare_ harm me." Lord Ashendale asserted, glowering at his son. Richard laughed and snapped his fingers, and his father's right arm tore itself from his body and dropped heavily to the floor, while Lord Ashendale screamed, high and terrible, clutching at the bloody stump.

"Are you paying attention _now?_" Richard inquired, his blank yellow eyes seemingly filled with fire. "Are you finally listening?"

"My arm!" his father cried in hysteria. "Gods, my _arm!"_

"Yes, yes, while I admit your agony is amusing, it's not helping _me._ Right now. You have three more limbs, not to mention a whole _lot_ of squishy insides, so if I were you, I'd hurry up and tell me who killed me."

Lord Ashendale was on his knees, gasping like a fish out of water. "C-Catherine!" he stammered, blood pouring over his fingers and onto the rug. "Oh Gods, oh _Gods—!"_

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" said Richard, steepling his fingers.

"Help me." his father begged, crawling forward. "Please, help me!"

Richard smiled indulgently at him. "It's cute, how you think I'm going to let you live." He held up a hand, stifling his father's high-pitched protest. "You can beg all you like, father. In fact, I encourage you to. You can grovel and plead and cry, and throw yourself at my feet; you can degrade yourself however you like—and I highly recommend it—but it won't make me kill you any faster."

"Richard!" Lord Ashendale gasped, spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth, tears coursing down his face, mucus dripping from his aquiline nose, "My son, please—!"

"Your _son?_" Richard roared, leaping to his feet. The fire shot from its grate like the breath of a dragon. "I was _never _your son. I was an accessory, I was a _burden._ I was nothing to you but an obstacle to be removed. Well, you _did_ it, father. You _removed_ me. Does that gratify you? Congratulations, you murdered your own son. Well now I'm going to remove _you_, father. Very, _very_ slowly."

Lord Ashendale scrambled to his feet, clutching at his desk to haul himself upright, looking paler by the moment. "Please. Please, I am begging you! Your mother—think of your mother, for the Gods' sakes! It'll kill her, you know it will!"

"You'd like _that,_ wouldn't you." Richard snarled. "You couldn't poison her so you're—"

Suddenly, Lord Ashendale flung out his arm and a bolt of silver flew from his bloodied fingertips. It struck Richard squarely in the left eye and stuck there.

"Ow!" Richard cried, taking a step back. Then he put a hand to his chin and said speculatively, "Actually, that didn't hurt at all. What is this, a _letter opener?_ Of course you would know, my one weakness is correspondence paraphernalia."

"I curse you." Lord Ashendale hissed, and Richard cried out, falling to his knees and clutching at his eye. Green sparks shot from the silver letter opener, crackling over Richard's head and chest. "I curse you with my dying breath. I will chain you to this place—to _me—_for all eternity."

"_No!_" Richard howled, struggling to his feet. He took one lurching step towards his father and fell flat.

"I bind your power to me, and me to the roots of this place." Lord Ashendale gasped, collapsing in a pool of his own blood. "With this . . . I curse you . . . my son. . . ."

Richard snarled, yanking the silver knife from his eye. Green ichor spilled down his face, and he stretched out a hand toward his father.

With his dying breath, Johnathan Ashendale screamed as his flesh peeled itself from his bones.

Crouched in the blood-and-ichor-stained rug, fingers of one hand grasping the plush, warm fibers, Richard was motionless. Eventually, he sat back, legs splayed beneath him, arms dangling uselessly, viscous ooze still dripping from his eye. Green scars were beginning to appear on his eyebrow and cheek, glowing faintly.

"Burn in hell, father." he said hoarsely.

Rain poured, and a faint growl of thunder rolled across the sky. Lady Ashendale stirred.

Richard was at his mother's side in an instant, helping her to sit up.

"Richard," she murmured, "Richard. . . ."

"I'm here, Mother." he said softly. "Don't be afraid."

"You were dead." she said, putting a hand to her head. "And now . . . how, Richard? How did you do it?"

"That isn't important right now." Richard said. "Come on, stand up, Mother. We'll go back to your room, you should lie down." He put one hand on her back and held her arm in the other, guiding her carefully towards the door.

"Jonathan—" she began, turning her head. Richard took her face in his hand and pointed her gaze back towards the door, not sharply, but with some force.

"He . . . left." said Richard, in his rusty-hinge voice. "He'll be back soon."

She gasped, her knees giving out, and Richard had to hold her up to keep her on her feet. She struggled in his grasp, striving to turn about. He passed a hand over her eyes, leaving them pale blue and pupilless.

"What's happening?" she demanded, breath coming in short gasps. "I can't see. Richard, I can't see!"

"You're not well, Mother." he said, turning her to face him. "You need to rest. I'm sorry about this. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Richard, please, tell me where Jonathan is. Tell me what you've done to my husband." Her small hands clenched his robe, trembling.

He sighed, carefully taking her hands in his own. "I. . . ." he sighed, hanging his head. "I sent him away, Mother. Very far away. He may never get back."

"But he's alive?" she said, a single tear leaking from her unnaturally pale eye.

"Of course." Richard replied. "How could I hurt my own father? It's unthinkable. Now come lie down, Mother. Please."

"Yes." she said. "I think that's an excellent idea."

He led her carefully from the room, the green scars on his face faintly glowing.

* * *

><p>Catherine sat alone in her chambers, her toes peeping from beneath her cream-colored nightgown, her face lit by warm orange firelight, the baby Nicholas cradled in her arms, sleeping peacefully. She smiled down at him, rocking gently back and forth in her chair.<p>

The door burst open and Nicholas awoke, squalling instantly. Catherine leapt to her feet with a sharp intake of breath, fear displayed clearly on her face.

Maikos strode quickly across the room, taking her by the arm. "Miss Catherine, you must come with me."

"Maikos, what is this? What's going on?" she demanded as he dragged her towards the door. Nicholas screamed and flailed his tiny fists.

"No time to explain." the red-headed servant panted. "You _must_ go. There is a carriage waiting outside the back gate for you. It will take you outside the Ashendale estate. I've sent a letter ahead that should reach the coast before you—"

Catherine extracted herself from Maikos's grip, shushing the baby Nicholas while watching the servant carefully. "Now hush, Maikos, you're scaring the baby. What's all this about?"

"We don't have _time!_" Maikos insisted, holding out his hands. "Please, Miss Catherine, I swear to you I will explain later, but you must go!"

"Dear me." rasped a voice from the gaping darkness beyond the door. Maikos leapt back and Catherine started, clutching the gurgling baby to her chest. "She looks pretty angry, Maikos, you'd better tell her what's going on."

"Who are you?" Catherine demanded. "What do you want?"

Two yellow eyes, the only clear objects in the darkness, turned to Maikos. "Go on, explain." they insisted. "There's no telling what she might do."

Maikos shrank back, mouth gaping, shaking all over. His eyes were so wide they seemed to bulge out of his skull.

"I have to do everything myself," said Richard, and stepped into the light. Catherine screamed, Maikos plastered himself against the wall, staring in horror. "Hello, Catherine." he continued pleasantly. "It's been a while. A year, at least." He pointed at the baby. "Is that him?"

"You _stay away from him!_" Catherine shrieked, turning to place her body between Richard and her child.

"I'd like that request submitted in triplicate, with all the appropriate forms attached and signed by the relevant authorities." Richard said. "And anyway, what could I possibly want with a baby that isn't mine?"

"You . . ." Maikos stammered, his voice cracking, "my lord, I knew you'd come back. I . . . I was the only one. . . ."

"Shut up, Maikos." said Richard casually. "Go check on my mother, or something. And if she asks, Father is very far away, but most certainly still alive. And send some maids to clean up his study. Maids with strong stomachs."

"My lord—"

"Get _out._" he growled. "I'm not in an arguing mood."

Maikos gasped, bowed, and scurried from the room, tripping over the threshold. Richard turned his gaze back to Catherine and smiled pleasantly. The door slammed closed behind him.

"You killed me." he croaked, fists slowly clenching. "Tell me, was it your idea, or Father's, to poison my mother? Oh, and whose offspring _is_ that?"

"What are you _talking_ about?" Catherine demanded. "This is Nicholas. He is _our_ _son._"

"I'm not stupid, Catherine." Richard snapped. "That . . . thing is nothing to do with me. I need to know who else to kill." He pulled a scroll from his sleeve and cried happily, "I'm making a list!"

"You keep away from me," she warned, backing away. Richard's smile went sharp around the edges.

"But Catherine," he said, "here I am, back from the _dead_, just to talk to you—well, not _just_ talk, mostly I came to kill you, but that's not the point. Well, it _is,_ but, hah, ignore that for now. The point is, I came back from the dead for you, and you can't even have a conversation with me?"

"You're a monster." she spat. "You were when you were alive and you still are now you're dead."

"That's not fair. I haven't done anything particularly monstrous since walking in this room. I could have reformed, for all you know."

"You came here to _kill _me."

"First of all, I told you to ignore that, and second of all, what goes around comes around." he said, sketching circles in the air. "But you know, I'd really appreciate it if you'd answer my questions before I kill you. I mean, I could _torture_ the answers out of you, but . . . hm, actually, I can think of no downside to that."

"It wasn't my idea!" she blurted. "It was my father's—and your father's. They plotted to kill you, but . . . I swear, Richard, your mother was never supposed to get involved. The other one—the professor—he suggested it."

"Professor?" said Richard, scratching his chin. "I don't remember a professor. Are you sure you're not making him up?"

"Of course I'm not making him up."

"Sounds an awful lot like a scapegoat. Maybe he was marooned on a tropical island."

"I swear to you, it's the truth."

"Yes, but you're a liar." Richard replied calmly. "I think I need a little collateral." He pointed at baby Nicholas. "He'll do." He crooked his finger and the baby floated out of its mother's arms, screaming the moment it began to move. Catherine clung to the baby, shrieking incoherently, but the swaddled child slipped effortlessly through her fingers, floating gently across the room to be cradled in Richard's emaciated arms.

"There, now, stop crying or I'll rip your tongue out." he cooed at the child. Nicholas screamed and waved his tiny fists in the air, and Richard scowled at him. The child hiccuped and fell silent, its blue eyes wide and tearful.

"Richard—Richard, for the love of God—put the child down. Please, Richard, I'll do anything you want, just put the baby down." Catherine said, voice husky. She took a careful step toward Richard, arms outstretched. He looked up sharply at her and she froze, trembling all over.

"Now." he said. "Feeling a little more talkative? Whose idea was it to poison my mother?"

"The professor's. His name . . . it was Sokol. Professor Sokol. Please, Richard, I'm begging you—do whatever you want with me, but leave my son alone."

Richard smiled at her. "This collateral decision is working out better and better." He tickled the child's cheek with one finger, then asked offhandedly, "Who did it? The actual poisoning. Who did it?"

"Y—your father." Catherine said, her eyes fixed upon the baby. "He did that."

"And you?" he prompted, prodding Nicholas on his button nose. "What was your role in this . . . conspiracy?"

"Please, Richard, give me back my son." she pleaded. "I'll tell you anything you want, just let me hold him."

"One more outburst like that and I'll use his head as a paperweight." Richard snapped. Nicholas let out a shrill cry, and Richard shushed him. "Mommy's undergoing psychological torture right now. Just keep quiet, you little monster." He turned his attention back to Catherine. "So what? It was your job to kill me?"

Catherine fidgeted, then sat on her bed, hands clasped in her lap, eyes downcast. "Yes." she said. "But your powers made things . . . complicated. And before I could kill you, I had to ensure that the Ashendale line could continue. That was the whole reason. That's why . . . Nicholas. . . ."

"Right, fine. How'd you do it? How'd you kill me?"

She breathed deeply, her jaw clenching. "It was the ring. The ring was warded. It was a seal, to keep you from using your power. That left me free to dispose of you at my leisure."

"Charming." Richard drawled. "So you waited until you mysteriously got pregnant—"

"It's not that mysterious, I could explain it in five minutes."

"—and then waited until I was alone, and killed me."

"Yes." she admitted. "I did."

He flung up one arm and let it drop heavily, rolling his eyes, the baby still cradled against his chest. "That's the worst conspiracy _ever._ Don't you have any sense of romance? Of adventure? I mean, where's the plot? Where's the dastardly plan? No, just stick a ward on him, wait until he's alone, and stab him. That's _stupid_. You're not allowed to plan anymore conspiracies."

"I didn't plan it!" she hastened to say, looking up quickly. "It was the other one—"

"The imaginary professor?"

"No . . . no, the _other_ other one. The mage. I don't know his name. I don't even know if he had one. But he was in charge. He said it had to be done. And I'm telling you, the professor is _real._"

"You mean it wasn't my father's idea to kill me?"

"Well . . . it _was,_ but things . . . got out of hand."

"I should have guessed. Simplistic and brutish as this 'plan' was, it wasn't simplistic and brutish enough to be my father's."

"That's all I know." Catherine said, rising carefully. "Now please . . . give me back my son. He has no part in this. Please, Dick. He's just a child."

Richard thought about this for a moment, the baby's head resting against his arm. The child stared up at him curiously, now still and calm. "It's true he hasn't done anything to deserve it. . . ." Richard mused, considering the ceiling. Suddenly his eyes hardened, and he turned his gaze to Catherine, who shrank back. When he spoke, his voice was a low, rasping hum, dangerous in its calmness. "But then, neither did my mother."

"No!" Catherine cried, lunging towards him. Blood splattered her face and nightgown, and her scream was cut short. Nicholas gurgled, then squealed happily, waving his tiny hands, unharmed.

"How's it feel?" Richard asked softly, his fingers knuckle-deep in Catherine's abdomen. Blood trickled down from them, dripping onto the floor. "Does it hurt much?"

Catherine gasped, her wide eyes still fixed on her son. "Please. . . ." she whispered, face contorted with pain. "My son . . . please. . . ."

"You're just not going to let go of this, are you?" Richard said, raising one eyebrow. "If you can't pay attention to me, I'm going to have to resort to extreme measures." He jerked his arm backwards, yanking his hand from her in a squirt of blood. She staggered back, clutching her abdomen, leaning against the bed for support. Richard held Nicholas up close to his face and murmured, "Daddy's going to murder Mommy, now. You sit still and don't wander off."

"Richard . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything, please . . . please don't hurt the child." Catherine implored.

"One more _word_ about this damn baby and I cannot be held responsible for my actions." Richard snapped, glaring at her. The child's lip began to wobble dangerously.

"Nicholas, it's okay." Catherine called to it. "Mommy's here, it's o—"

Richard pointed at her and lightning shot from his fingertip, striking her in the chest and flinging her backwards across the room. Nicholas began to cry again at the loud crack, and Richard shushed him hurriedly, setting him down in the armchair by the fire. "Wait here, Nicky. And stop crying before I tear your head off." He stood and turned away, walking slowly to where Catherine lay, contorted and smoldering, on the floor.

"Whoops." said Richard, and knelt by her side. "Not to worry!" he called over his shoulder to Nicholas, before laying his hands on her body, green light flowing from them and into her. She sat up suddenly, her eyes gray and milky.

"Fun fact." said Richard, smirking at her. "You're dead."

"Nicholas—" she gasped, looking around frantically.

"—is not your problem right now." Richard completed. "And if you ignore me again, I will murder him right in front of your face. Would you like that?"

She turned her gaze back to him, shaking. "What do you want?" she whispered.

"It's very simple, Catherine." he replied. "I want you to _hurt_. I want to kill you as slowly and as painfully as I possibly can, as many times as I can, before you fall apart. And then, when you're just a pitiful, broken, undead heap of whatever I haven't managed to tear to shreds, I'm going to kill your son while you watch, powerless, helpless. I want to see you _suffer,_ Kitty. And that is precisely what I'm going to do."

"Why?" she demanded through gritted teeth.

"_Why?_" Richard parroted, then laughed, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. "Because no one is left who can stop me."


	14. Chapter 14

The day dawned bright and cold, the moon and sun hanging in the sky like two orbs on a balance. The sun's light was bright and sharp, filtering through the skeletal, wintering branches of a grove of oaks to land upon a snow-capped wooden sign by the road, with, "Riverwood, Pop. 288," carved into the wood in a careful hand. Around a bend in the road, at the base of a low rise, the town spread itself out across the snowy landscape. A large, cross-shaped church dominated the town, resting at its very center, the bell-tower gleaming in the morning sun. From there the town spread away like a thick puddle, the buildings scattered in clumps, fenced-off yards of pigs, chickens, or goats accompanying some of the larger dwellings. Smoke plumed from the brick chimney of the forge, rising almost straight into the pale blue sky before dissipating. The animals in their pens were just waking, snuffling, clucking, and baaing at their empty troughs, while from the bakery wafted the warm scent of freshly baked bread. A flock of starlings scattered from the forest, swooping low over the town, their black wings stark against the sky.

Down in the streets, a woman opened her door and swept the dust from her floors out onto the street, an apron around her waist and a kerchief over her head. Behind her, a young girl was studiously sweeping back and forth with a tiny broom, just large enough for her child's hands. A shadow fell across the doorstep, and mother and child both looked up.

"May I help you?" the woman asked pointedly, while the girl scuttled over and clung to her skirts, wide-eyed and tight-lipped.

"Yes," the stranger rasped, "I've got some pamphlets. Would you like to see them?" He held out one bone-white hand, and snapped his fingers.

In an instant, the mother was engulfed in flame, screaming bloody murder and slapping at her clothes. The child cried out, stumbling backwards, before she, too, was burning like a torch. The thatch of the roof caught fire, and soon the whole house was an inferno, the sparks leaping from one rooftop to another like a swarm of insects, the smoke blotting out the pale morning sun. The streets filled with a tide of people, running first this way and then another, as the fire cut them off at every turn. From the smoke came terrible things, a shadow with hands and eyes, and the sound of screams and breaking bones punctuated the roaring of the fire. The town's church bell began to ring, loudly and desperately, peal after peal in an unending succession, until explosions rocked the base of the tower, and with one final discordant _durng_, the whole thing collapsed in a rush of dust and noise. At that, the farm animals, mouths frothing and eyes wild, broke through their fences and careened through the town, sometimes into burning buildings, sometimes beneath the feet of the sooty townsfolk. The fire closed in, pinning them in the town square, near where the dust from the collapsed tower was still settling, and a figure emerged from the smoke—tall and dark, with yellow orbs where its eyes should have been, a black mask covering its face and a hood over its head.

"Pamphlets!" it cried, and strode up to one terrified man, most of the hair burned off his head. He tried to shrink away, but the black-clad figure caught him by the shoulder and thrust a pamphlet under his nose. "They tell you all the advantages of becoming one of my undead minions, including pay grade, vacation days, insurance plans, and family benefits! What do you think? It's a full-time position with definite possibility for promotion—" and here he threw his thin arm around the man's shoulders— "and there will be no pay cuts or lay-offs. In this economy, you're not going to get much better than that." He flung the man away from himself and danced over to a crying woman, taking her by the hands and spinning her around. "I am an equal opportunity employer, you know." Releasing her, he plucked up a child from the ground and hefted it over his head. "I even employ children, so the whole family can stay together. Just think!" He flung the child back over his shoulder, and it hit the ground with a wet crunch. "An entire un-life spent working for me, with complete job security and holidays off! What do you say, people? This is a one-time offer!"

He stood at the center of a wide circle of townsfolk, all staring wordlessly at him, except for one woman, who held the limp child in her arms and sobbed.

Richard crossed his arms and glared at the circle of people. "Come on, I don't have all day. You think you're the only town in these parts? I have a _lot_ of work to do, and not a lot of time to do it."

"Who are you?" one man demanded, his voice gruff. His muscles bulged, and he held an iron poker in one hand.

"Who am I?" Richard said, and chuckled. "_Who_ am _I?_" All around them, the fire leapt into the sky with a roar as the warlock flung his arms towards the heavens. "I am _Richard_, lord of the Thirteen Hells. I have defeated the most powerful demons known to your kind, and severed the head of Death himself." He leaned over to the man and said, in a much more pleasant voice, "I'm also hiring."

"You destroyed our town," the man growled, brandishing the poker, "you killed our families, ruined our livelihoods. I say, back to hell with you, devil!" He roared, and rushed forward. Richard swatted the poker away like a bug, snatched it away, and drove it through the man's head in one swift motion. With a gurgle, the man collapsed, folding up slowly, blood pouring from his head.

"Don't worry." Richard said to the rest of the townsfolk. "He'll be back up in a minute."

The crowd scattered, and the smoke closed around them.

* * *

><p>Maikos sat alone in a small wooden chair by the fireside, staring vacantly at the far wall. There were streaks of gray in what hair he had left, and the lines on his face were deep, brought into relief by the flickering light of the fire. He scarcely blinked when the door burst open and Richard strode in.<p>

"Maikos! There you are, I've been looking all _over_ for you. Say, did you know that if you heat up bones enough, they explode? I thought that was interesting, although it really lowers the resale value, if you know what I mean. Are you all right? You look a bit . . . dead. _Are_ you dead?"

The servant turned heavy-lidded eyes to his master and replied, "Your mother wishes to see you, my lord."

"Does she? When was the last time I went to see her? I forget."

"Last month, my lord."

"That long? Really? I guess I'd better, then. How long have I been gone?"

Maikos sighed, turning his gaze back to the far wall. "About a month, my lord."

"Well, the new recruits are in the back garden, I told them to wait there and we shouldn't have any trouble from them. I really have to find a better place to keep them. Any ideas, Maikos? You always have ideas."

"No ideas, my lord." he replied dully. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

Richard leaned down and inspected Maikos closely. A black mask still covered the lower half of his face, and he exuded a musty, earthen smell. The servant, on the other hand, simply looked tired. "There's something wrong with you." Richard said at last.

"Nothing, my lord."

"Are you still upset about my face? Because I'm not, really. And I should be the last one to get over it, if you think about it, because it's _my_ face."

"You don't have to look at it, my lord."

"Cheeky. But I took your advice, and now you don't have to, either. You should feel honored, I rarely take advice from anyone." His eyebrows lifted suddenly. "Is it about my mother? What's wrong with my mother?"

"Nothing, my lord." Maikos replied evenly. "She merely wishes to see you."

"Oh." said Richard, and then, "_Oh._ Did she figure it out, finally?"

"That you murdered your father and your fiance? Yes, she figured that out some time ago, my lord."

"Since I've been gone?"

"One week ago, my lord."

"That's odd. What happened last week that clued her in?"

Maikos's expression become even more wooden, his hands tightened on the arms of the wooden chair. "I told her, my lord."

Richard stared at Maikos, and Maikos stared at the far wall. A log shifted in the fire, throwing off sparks.

"You told her." Richard repeated.

"Yes."

"Did you have any _reason_ in mind?"

"Quite a few, my lord."

"Was a _death wish_ among them?"

"Your mother would like to see you, my lord." Maikos said. "She's in her room, as she has been for the past week."

"Do you know what I've been doing for the past seven months, Maikos?"

"Yes, my lord. As does your mother."

A white-fingered hand snatched Maikos by the throat and lifted him out of his chair. With the other hand, Richard tore the mask from his face. Maikos flinched.

"Look at me, Maikos." Richard shook the servant violently. "I said _look_ at me, gods damn it."

Maikos looked. All the hair had fallen from Richard's face and head; the brow ridge and cheekbones protruded, while the nose had flattened and sunken until it was no more than two slits in his face; the lips and blackened gums had pulled back from the yellowing teeth, leaving them at all times exposed; the skin around the mouth was cracked and chafing. The green zig-zags on his eyebrow and cheek had grown pronounced, and seemed to glow ever so slightly. His eyes were aflame with rage.

"Is this the face of a man who is to be trifled with? _Is it?_ How do you think my mother will react, seeing what her son has become? And you, _you_, just _had_ to make it worse, by telling her what I've _done?_ It'll kill her, Maikos. You've killed my mother. And I _know_ you remember what happened to the last little fool who tried that."

"She deserved to know!" Maikos blurted, his mouth pulled into a sneer. "She deserved to know the truth! And it won't kill her, no, she's strong, _much_ stronger than you ever gave her credit for. She had to know what her _son_ had become, what kind of _monster_ was loose on the world. You should have known you couldn't hide it forever, _my lord,_ and now the cat's out of the bag. When's it going to stop? Where does it end? What—"

Richard squeezed, and Maikos made a small _urk_ noise and began to turn red. "When I have spoken to my mother, I will come back for you. So long as she lives, _you_ live. And don't think running will save you. The farther you run, the more _people_ you put between me and you." He let go, and Maikos dropped to the floor with a thunk, coughing and gasping. Richard turned and headed for the door.

"And when I do kill you, Maikos," he said over his shoulder, pausing on the threshold, "I want you to be aware that you're coming right back." He grinned, although the expression was mostly in his eyes. "Honestly, I don't know _what_ I'd do without you."

* * *

><p>There was a gentle knock at Lady Ashendale's door. From the darkness, she answered, "Come in," in a quiet, hoarse voice.<p>

"Mother," Richard said, opening the door slightly, "it's me."

"'Mother?'" Lady Ashendale replied. The room was almost pitch-black, the only illumination coming from a tiny gap in the curtains. The outlines of chaos could be seen, and on the bed, sitting with her head bent, the figure of Lady Ashendale. "I am a mother no more. My son is dead."

"Yes," said Richard, entering the room, "and I'm home. It's only been a month, Mother, you can't have forgotten."

Her head twitched. What could be seen of her hair was wild and ragged. "A month. Is that all? My son died nineteen months ago. Almost to the day. Sometimes, I think I hear him talking to me. . . ."

"You are hearing him talk to you. Right now. Mother, are you all right? It's quite dark in here, and," he sniffed, "it smells funny. How about a little light?"

"_No!_" Lady Ashendale cried sharply, her head jerking again. "No light."

"Oh." said Richard. "Um. Okay. No light, fine. But Mother, listen, really, this is all a big misunderstanding. I know Maikos told you some things, about Father, but really, who are you going to believe—a silly old servant, or your son?"

"Son?" said Lady Ashendale. "My son is dead. And my husband. Seven months ago. And my grandson. And my daughter-in-law. All dead. Murdered." Here her voice grew sharp and snarling. "But I survived. They couldn't kill me, oh no. They tried once, and I lived. They won't kill me, not now."

"Mother, no one's trying to kill you." Richard said, stepping further into the room. Something crunched under his bare foot. "Look, I really think you shouldn't be sitting alone in the dark like this. Come on. I'll clear my minions out of the garden, we'll have a nice walk around, just like old times."

"My son used to walk with me in the garden." she said vaguely. "He liked it best when it rained. He's dead now, you see, and I just can't bring myself to walk there without him."

Richard heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping. "How many times am I going to have to _tell_ you? _I'm your son._ I swear to whatever god you like. Now can we _please_ stop with the circular dialogue? It's really starting to creep me out."

"You . . . you're my son." she said softly, rising.

"Yes, finally, some progress." Richard said. "Now come and say hi, there's a lot of people I want you to meet. Wait. Hang on, let's get some light in here first."

Richard held up a hand and it burst into flame, casting a lurid orange glow over the whole room. It was a terrible mess—furniture overturned, the contents of a dresser strewn across the floor, the curtains torn from the bedposts, ash and charcoal from the fireplace littering the carpet. In the midst of it stood Lady Ashendale, dressed in a disheveled nightgown, her hair a rat's nest, her face sunken, her eyes wild. Upon catching sight of Richard, she screamed, drawing back with her hands raised.

"Oh Gods!" she cried, backing away until she hit the wall. "Oh Gods, get it _away!_"

"Oh dear," said Richard, "I knew I was forgetting something. Mother, it's all right, I know it looks bad, but I can explain."

"It was true. It was all true, what Maikos said. You did all those . . . those terrible things. You killed my husband. _You killed my grandson!_"

"I never." said Richard. "Although, come to think of it, I haven't seen him in a _long_ time. Whatever happened to the little tyke?"

"I found him." Lady Ashendale snarled. "You abandoned him in that cellar, you left him there all alone and he _starved._ I found him . . . with the rats. . . . You murderer, you _monster!_"

"Ohhh." said Richard. "I was wondering why I kept feeling like I'd forgotten something. But listen, Mother, it was an _accident._"

"Was it an _accident_ what you did you Jonathan? Your own _father,_ Richard, how _could _you?"

"Excuse me, but what childhood were _you_ watching?" Richard demanded. "The old bastard had it coming, as far as I'm concerned. And don't even start on Catherine, because the answer is 'no comment' and that's final."

"So it's true. It's all true. Oh, _Gods!_"

Richard's eyes narrowed, dancing with the reflections of the flames. "Mother, please, I think you're overreacting just a little."

"How dare you." she hissed, advancing on him. Something glinted in her hand. "How _dare_ you. You are not my son. My son is _dead._"

She leapt at him, striking him in the chest. Richard looked down at the dagger protruding from his sternum, still clasped in his mother's lily-white hand, and then up into her horrified face.

"Your son is dead?" he said quietly, turning his head to the side. "That's too bad. If it's any consolation, I just lost my mother."

Her eyes widened, just for a moment, before she burst into flame. There was no scream, only a loud _fwoosh_ and then a soft hissing as the ash settled to the ground. Richard stared at the cinder cone for a long, long time, expressionless, so far as his death-mask of a face wore no expression. Finally, he took the black cloth from the sleeve of his robe and fixed it over the lower half his face.

"Well." he said.

The room went dark, and the door clicked closed behind him.

* * *

><p>Maikos stopped at the top of the stairs, leaning his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. After a moment, he straightened, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He opened the small wooden door before him and stepped out into orange sunlight, a stiff breeze yanking on his cap. Before him was a small, round platform, open to the sky, lined with a chest high stone parapet. Beyond that, the landscape stretched away into the blue distance, the tops of the trees below still bright with the setting sun.<p>

Atop the parapet stood Richard, barefoot and black-robed, and next to him stood a stooped old woman, whose arm he held.

"Hello, Maikos." he said pleasantly, and shook the old woman. "Say hello, Maude."

The old woman, trembling, replied through nearly-toothless gums, "Son."

Maikos's eyes went wide and his face shone with sweat. "My lord," he said, taking a step forward, "there's been some misunderstanding."

"Oh, no misunderstanding, Maikos." Richard assured him, waving his free hand carelessly. "I just thought it was time you and your mother had a heart-to-heart. You know. I'm sure you must have _something_ to talk about."

"Please, my lord." Maikos continued, his voice strained. "Whatever has happened, whatever wrong I have committed, please, punish _me._"

"Now Maikos," Richard said, a hand on his hip, "let's not get ahead of ourselves. After all, this isn't about _me_; this is about you and your dear old weak helpless mother." There was a smile in his eyes, although the lower half of his face was obscured by the black cloth mask. He inhaled sharply, his eyes widening. "Ooh, _I _know! You can tell her what you told _my_ mother!"

Maikos gasped and staggered, sinking to his knees, his mouth agape. "My lord, please, no. I beg of you, I will do _anything—_"

Richard made a little "tsk tsk" noise and shook his head slowly. "You've already done quite enough, Maikos, don't you think?" There was a creaking sound, and the old woman flinched, the hand of the arm Richard held spasming.

Maikos looked up at his mother, tears in his eyes. "M-Mother. . . ." he began, a hitch in his voice. "Lord Richard. . . ."

"Start with what happened to Father." Richard suggested. "That's a good starting place."

"Murdered." Maikos said, his face slack, his eyes bulging. "Lord Richard . . . _murdered_ . . . his father. . . . Then Catherine, and the baby."

"Oh, come on, I didn't _murder_ the baby, I just, sort of, you know, _forgot_ about it and it starved to death. Entirely not my fault."

"Then," Maikos continued, his gaze never shifting from his mother, "he went out into the countryside, without a word about where he was going or what he was going to do. I didn't know, at first, but he started coming back, with . . . others. Walking corpses with their eyes full of death."

"Dramatic." said Richard, examining his fingernails.

"He left them to guard this place, and his father's tomb. Then he left again, vanished. I knew where he was going. I knew . . . but I said nothing, did nothing. What _could_ I do?"

"Behaved like you had a damn _backbone,_" the old woman snapped, shaking a finger at the kneeling servant. "If I've told you once I've told you a _hundred_ times—" Suddenly, her wrinkled lips stuck together and refused to part.

"Hush," Richard admonished, "you're interrupting the story."

Maikos, as though in a trance, said, "We started to hear about it. Neighboring towns burned to the ground, the inhabitants massacred or missing."

"Or both." Richard chirped.

"I kept quiet, as quiet as a mouse, because I thought knowing would break Lady Ashendale's poor heart. She had lost a husband, a grandson—I didn't have the right, or the heart, to take her son away. No, worse, to make him a monster."

"But you did." Richard pointed out. "Tell us about _that._"

Maikos closed his eyes, bowed his head. The lines on his face were dark and heavy. "She told me she was afraid for you, my lord." he said tightly. "That she was afraid whatever was destroying the towns would get you, too. I couldn't keep quiet any longer. I told her that _you_ were destroying the towns. She surmised, almost instantly, the fates of your father and Catherine. Just two weeks earlier she had found Nicholas's body."

"Who's Nicholas?" Richard inquired. The old woman prodded him in the side and scowled. "Oh. _Ohhh,_ right. I forgot his name for a minute. Sorry. She found the dead baby."

"After that, she locked herself in her room and refused to come out." Maikos said. His voice had gone dull and flat. "I sent food and drink to her, but she would neither leave nor open the curtains. She was . . . inconsolable."

Richard turned to the old woman. "Maude, is there anything you'd like to say?"

She opened her mouth with a smack and turned, glaring, to her kneeling son. "You brought this on yourself, you good-for-nothing chump." she snapped. "There. That's all _I've_ got to say."

"You know, I like you." Richard commented to her. "I almost feel sorry about this."

Maikos's eyes snapped open. "My lord, no!" he said, scrambling to his feet.

"Do you know what my mother just did?" Richard inquired, his tone light. "She stabbed me in the chest. Can you imagine that? My own mother just tried to kill me."

"Lord Richard, please, I beg you, do not do this!"

"And do you know what _I_ did then?"

"I will do anything you ask, _anything_ you ask of me! Please, let my mother go!"

"I killed her." Richard said musingly. "I murdered my mother. _Fwoosh._ Just like that."

"Please, have mercy!"

"No." said Richard, and shoved the old woman over the side. The scream seemed to go on for years, and Maikos reached the parapet just as the sound stopped. He stared over the edge in horror, fat tears spilling down his round cheeks. The wind plucked at his cap and sideburns, and the last rays of the sun sank beneath the horizon. The tiniest of whimpers escaped Maikos's throat. Richard hopped down from the parapet, and he clapped a hand on his servant's shoulder.

"Don't worry." he said. "I'll have her back up in a jiffy."

Maikos screamed, a wild, animal yell that twisted his face into something less than human; he grabbed Richard's arm and heaved with all his might, flinging Richard over the side of the tower. A few moments later, there was a heavy _thud._

Maikos turned away from the edge abruptly and sank to the floor, cradling his head in his hands. Minutes passed, and he remained motionless.

A white-fingered hand shot over the parapet, digging into the stone. Richard hauled himself over the edge, looking rumpled and muddy.

"That," he said, "was not very nice."

Maikos leapt to his feet, scurrying backwards, his face a mask of terror. Richard advanced slowly, his eyes ablaze.

"Do you know what we do to people who throw other people off towers?" Richard asked, cracking his knuckles.

"N-no," Maikos stammered, still backing away.

"Oh, I think you do." Richard replied, a terrible sort of amusement in his voice.

"No, _please. . . ._" the servant whimpered. He ran into the opposite parapet and pressed himself against it, his mouth flapping silently.

"We _start,_" said Richard, taking one of Maikos's hands in his own, "with their fingers."

There was a crack, and a scream, as the first stars of evening glimmered out through the twilight.

A crack, and a scream, as wind rustled through the trees.

A crack, and a scream, as the moon peeked over the horizon.

Eventually the screaming stopped.


	15. Chapter 15

A white finger prodded Maikos's cheek. When he didn't stir, the finger prodded twice more, harder.

"Wake up," someone rasped. The finger began to poke insistently.

With a mumble, Maikos opened his eyes. They were milky, as though a white film had grown across them. He made a little hoarse sound, his mouth moving aimlessly.

"It helps to breathe in first." the rasping voice advised. "I know it may seem like a novel concept."

Maikos sucked in a breath of air, then croaked, "What happened?"

The hand that had been prodding his face took hold of his arm and helped him to stand. As Maikos rubbed his head, Richard replied, "Oh, you know, I threw you off a tower. Eventually. And then I raised you from the dead! So here we are."

The servant stared at his own hands as though he had never seen them before. "I'm . . . dead?" he said.

"Undead." said Richard. "But close enough, I guess. Hey, did you know that one percent of the population takes up ninety-nine percent of the jobs? There's all these unemployed dead people lying around, and do the living care?" His eyes narrowed in what was probably a smile. "Welcome to the ninety-nine percent. Occupy world."

Looking up at Richard, Maikos said, "What are you going to do now, my lord?"

"Same thing we do every day, Pinky." he replied, and, one arm draped lazily over Maikos's shoulders, struck out towards the rising sun.

"Um," said Maikos, "and what, my lord, would that be?"

Richard sighed. "Try to take over the world, obviously. Now say 'narf.'"

"Narf," Maikos said, perplexed. "But, Lord Richard, how do you intend to _accomplish_ said world conquest?"

"Maikos, I didn't raise you from the dead to ask questions," Richard said, waving his free hand as he spoke. "I raised you from the dead because I need someone to look after the place while I'm gone. You know, make sure the minions don't get too terribly out of line, keep father's tomb safe, make sure the roof falls in on the old house." Richard sighed. "It's time for me to get out in the world. See new sights, meet new people, and _burn them to the ground._" He said this last with a harshness that made Maikos jump. "And I can't do any of that if I have to keep coming back here to make sure everything is all right. Got it?"

"I understand, my lord." said Maikos.

"I think undeath suits you, Maikos, I really do. It's taken out your belligerent streak, and that's really for the best. Belligerent streaks tend to get people thrown off of towers. Tell me, Maikos, how much do you remember?"

Maikos looked up for a moment, his lips moving silently. "Most of it, my lord. There are a few blurry spots, but I had those when I was alive."

"Hm." said Richard. "That's not fair at _all_. Did I used to have a professor?"

"Yes," Maikos answered immediately, "Professor Sokol. You hated him, as I recall."

"Well, I hated most people." Richard said, rubbing his chin. "So he's real, then. Do you know where I might find him?"

Maikos shrugged. "As he was a professor, my lord, I believe you might find him at a school."

Richard glared at him for a long moment, standing perfectly still, bent at the waist to peer straight into Maikos's cloudy eyes. "Were you being funny?" he asked at last.

"Er, no, my lord." said Maikos, glancing from side to side.

Richard's eyes took on their smiling look again, and he clapped Maikos on the shoulder as he straightened. "We'll work on it. I'm sure you'll get there. Really, it seems like I'm surrounded by people with no sense of humor whatsoever!"

The red-headed servant stared straight ahead, following Richard as he began to walk again. "My lord, have you any idea of when you'll be back?" he asked.

Richard scoffed. "Of course not. Just hold down the fort until I come back. I'll send reinforcements when I make them. While traveling with an army could be fun, I really prefer to work alone."

"What if we are attacked, my lord?" Maikos inquired.

"Attacked?" Richard said.

"Yes, my lord. Such a large concentration of undead, along with the . . . disappearance of the entire Ashendale line, will prove to be a large target for seekers of adventure or political power."

"Ah, yes, I see what you mean." Richard answered, halting so suddenly Maikos ran into him. "If anyone attacks, hole up in the old house, it's pretty well fortified. More of a castle, really. Then load the women and children into the catapults and throw them at the enemy."

"The . . . women and children, my lord?"

Richard nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! What soldier would stab a toddler in the face, even one that had just flown out of a catapult?"

"Ah," said Maikos, "I see."

Richard clapped him on the shoulder again, hanging on this time. "I have great faith in you, Maikos. Oh, and I do tend to lose track of time, so it may be, I don't know, a few months before I get to come back."

Maikos simply nodded, then watched as Richard strolled off into the morning sunshine, whistling to himself.

"How can he whistle when he's got no lips?" Maikos asked himself, then, shaking his head, turned and walked back to the looming house.

* * *

><p>A white flash of light blinded the entire taproom for a moment, leaving them blinking away dark spots as thunder rattled the window panes. The storm howled outside, raging like a vengeful spirit, flinging rain against the glass like handfuls of pebbles. The roof was leaking in several places, and the steady dripping of water into mugs punctuated the fury of the storm.<p>

There were very few people in the tavern that night; the tender stood behind his bar, cleaning glasses with a damp rag and occasionally changing which mugs sat beneath the leaks; three men sat at the bar, two together and one apart, each absorbed in his drink; a group of four sat at a table pulled near the fire and played cards; the barmaid would occasionally bustle through, taking up empty dishes and returning full mugs. There was a low mutter of conversation from the card-players, an occasional word shared between the men at the bar and the bartender, and the crackle and hiss of the fire—all the while the storm raged without, clawing at the thick log walls of the tavern.

Suddenly the door slammed open, letting in the full screaming fury of the wind. The fire was blown down to embers and an unoccupied table was bowled over. A tall, rail-thin figure was silhouetted by a blinding flash of lightning, then slammed the door closed on the roll of thunder. The bar was plunged into darkness that slowly receded as the fire came back to life. The figure ambled to the bar, water dripping from its hood and shoulders, the white tips of its toes peeking out from beneath the hem of its black robe. It seated itself at the bar and fixed the man behind it with a yellow-eyed gaze. The bartender took an involuntary step back, clenching his wipe-down rag. A kind of local silence settled over the tavern, irrespective of the cacophony outside.

"Whatcha got?" the newcomer rasped into the bubble of silence.

"Er," said the bartender, gently setting down the mug he had been wiping, "we got beer, an' ale, an' I think a coupla wines in the cellar."

"Food?" He leaned his elbows on the bar, lacing his white fingers together. A puddle began to form on the smooth polished wood and on the floor beneath him.

"Er," said the bartender, "I don't know as we got much left, what with it bein' so late an' the storm an' all. We did 'ave rabbit an' some spiced potatoes. _Molly!_" he called over his shoulder towards the kitchen. "_We got any o' that rabbit an' taters left?_"

"_Bones an' skins, if that be 'is taste!_" came the reply, muffled by the thick logs of the walls.

"There you 'ave it." the tender said, turning back to his customer. "Take yer fancy?"

"Nope." said the newcomer, his yellow eyes crinkling in a smile.

"'Ere now, I know the weather's right dreadful, but you can't just come waltzin' in 'ere an' sit about fer free."

"Wasn't planning on doing _that._" There was a hoarse chuckle.

The bartender's hand snuck beneath the bar and took hold of a wooden truncheon. "I tell you somethin', mister, I don't like the look of you, an' that's the damn truth. 'Ow come your face is all muffled up? An' 'ow did you come to be travelin' in this kind of a storm without no pack or 'orse?"

"Well, to be perfectly honest with you," Richard said, stretching his arms over his head, "I've been wandering for the past few months, looking for tasty gossip."

"Gossip?" said the bartender. "We don't get much o' that 'round 'ere."

"Liar," Richard accused, "_everybody_ gossips in bars. Even _I_ know that." One of his pale hands came down hard on the bar, making the three men sitting at it startle. "So are you all deaf? Or are you just really stupid?"

Every eye, which had been fixed on Richard for some time, was turned to find other, nearby eyes. Eventually the lone man at the bar volunteered, "Er, they say Cassie the milkmaid's gone an' run off with a sailor again."

This time the bar splintered under the force of the warlock's blow. "_No!_" he cried, leaping to his feet. "Don't you people know _any_ of the rules? It's a dark and stormy night. A stranger walks into a bar, asking for gossip. What you're _supposed _to say is:" and here he took hold of the head of the man who had spoken, bobbing it back and forth, "'Arr, they say Death's been warkin' in the land o' the livin' these parst munths.'" He relinquished the man's head and grabbed another. "And then somebody else can say, 'Aye, I heerd the town o' Greyvale were burned t'the ground, an' nart a soul survived.'" He shoved the man's head away and pirouetted across the room, snatching the head of one of the card players. "And then one of you schmucks can chime in with, 'I heerd 'e wears a blarck robe an' 'as got yeller eyes like some kind o' demon.'" He slammed the man's head against the table and moved to stand in the center of the room. "Are you starting to get the picture?" he demanded, hands on hips.

The bartender pulled out his truncheon and clutched it to his chest. "I think you'd best leave, sir." he said, his voice trembling.

"Oh, I know generally you have to leave _survivors_ for rumors to get started," Richard admitted, waving his hands in the air, "but so far no one has managed to _survive._ And besides that, you'd think the neighbors would have talked. Of course, they generally get slaughtered, too. . ." He paused, rubbing his chin. "Hm. There may be a fundamental flaw in my planning."

"Did you 'ear me?" the bartender squeaked. "I said you'd best leave."

"Oh well." Richard said, and shrugged. "Maybe one of you sorry rubes will get lucky." He stretched out one hand towards the bartender, his eyes crinkled with a smile. "It probably won't be you."

There was a rushing sound as a jet of flame shot from Richard's hand, engulfing the bar and its tender, who began to scream, rushing back and forth, knocking over bottles of alcohol onto himself and the floor. The fire began to spread, hissing as the roof leaked into it.

As one man, the four card players rose, even as the rest of the bar's occupants fled yelling into the storm, tripping over themselves and one another. Richard turned his jaundiced gaze to the four men, who were cracking their knuckles. They were all four tall and well-muscled, with hard faces and long white hair. One had a red splotch on his forehead where it had encountered the table.

"Oh, do _please_ try to be heroes." Richard said gleefully. "It always makes things more fun."

"Looks like we've got another one." the tallest said.

"On my day off, too." said another.

Richard's eyes narrowed, darting between the four men. "Hey, what's with the small talk?" he demanded, then raised his hands to point his fingertips at the four. "In case you missed it, I've been killing a lot of people recently. I've got a good streak going."

"Think we'll get extra vacation time for this?" asked the third man, rolling his shoulders.

"Only one casualty. Should get us an extra week, at least." the fourth replied.

"That's it." said Richard, glaring at them. "Nobody ignores _me._"

Once more flames roared from his fingertips, but instead of engulfing the four men, they arced to either side, setting most of the tables aflame. Richard goggled.

"You're fairly new to this, so let me tell you something." said the tallest man, taking a step forward. "Legara tries to be fair. Our gracious immortal king has taught us tolerance towards the lesser races. Warlocks are not hunted down and killed here, as they are in other kingdoms. _But murder is murder, and nobody gets away with it._"

"Why aren't you dead?" Richard demanded, his voice cracking. "Why aren't you crispy-fried?"

"Got two words for you:" said the fourth, whose reddened forehead shone in the firelight, "_battle mages._"

"Battle _what?_" said Richard, just before the floor leapt up and swallowed him.

* * *

><p>Richard found himself in a dungeon with no recollection of how he had gotten there. His hands were manacled, and the manacles were chained to the wall. Before him was a set of iron bars, set firmly into the stone of the floor and ceiling. The stones were damp, the iron rusty, and the whole place smelled of mildew and piss.<p>

"Awesome." Richard said, and let his head fall back to the floor with a thunk.

It was several hours before he heard the squeal of an opening door. He put down the straw man he had been crafting next to a host of others (most of which were engaged in horribly maiming each other), getting to his feet creakily. He shuffled to the bars, grasping them in his cold hands, and pressed his face against them.

"I rang for room service two hours ago." he rasped, glaring. "You're not getting any tip."

Three men stopped before the bars of his cell, one in front and two behind. The leader was a tall, thick-set man, blond-haired and blue-eyed, dressed in finery and wearing the insignia of a minor noble. The two behind him were bare-armed, roughshod men, with grizzled faces and stern glares.

"Well well well," said the noble, looking Richard up and down, "look at _you_."

"An adoring fan." Richard said, his eyes narrowed. "I'm so flattered. Just wait 'til I go on tour."

"Do you know who I am, wretch?" the noble asked, arms akimbo.

Richard glanced over the man's attire. "You're some kind of duke." he replied. "I don't do autographs."

The man's chest inflated. "I am Sarkos, duke of Grimmerton."

"Called it." Richard interjected. "And Grimmerton? _Really?_ Of all the places to get taken prisoner, I had to pick the middle of nowhere."

Sarkos's blue eyes flashed angrily. "Do not insult me, abomination."

"I have a name."

"Your name is unimportant." Sarkos said, cutting Richard off with a gesture. "Your crimes define you well enough."

"I think you should know my name." Richard confided, drumming his fingers on the iron bars. "It'll come in handy when you have to tell people about the time you died."

Sarkos threw his head back and let out three short barks of laughter. "You? Kill me? You underestimate me, little man. While Grimmerton may be small, we are not stupid. We have been watching the fates of other towns in this area, and we knew it had to be the work of a renegade warlock."

"Is there any other kind?" Richard said fondly.

"_As such_," the duke continued, glaring at Richard, "we took steps to ensure the same fate did not befall our little community. I took the liberty of calling in a team of battle-mages from the capitol. My intent was to have them fortify the town against the ravages of your kind, but fortune smiled upon us, and you walked right into their arms. Now, instead of being praised for escaping the fires of destruction, I will be hailed as the man who captured and killed the scourge of the coast."

"'Scourge of the Coast?'" Richard repeated, then put one hand on his chin. "I like that. I'm going to add that to my titles."

"Titles?" said the duke. "What titles could the likes of you possibly have?"

Richard snickered. "Oh, you have no idea." He cleared his throat and stood back from the bars. "I am _Richard,_ Lord of the Thirteen Hells, Scourge of the Coast! And mayor of a little village up the coast." He glanced around sheepishly. "Insert lightning here."

"'Richard?'" Sarkos said dubiously, one eyebrow raised. "An underwhelming name, for an underwhelming man."

"Don't you insult my name." Richard hissed, the bars clanging as he flung himself against them. "My mother gave me that name."

The two burly men chortled.

"What? What's funny?" Richard demanded, his hands balling into fists.

"Momma's boy." one grunted.

"Be quiet, the both of you." Sarkos snapped. The feather in his hat wafted back and forth as he shook his head. "Hired help."

"It's like they think they're paid to talk." Richard agreed, sticking his hand as far through the bars as it would go, wiggling his fingers at Sarkos.

Sarkos cleared his throat. "You are to be executed at dawn tomorrow, warlock." he said formally. "Have you any last requests?"

Richard thought for a moment, looking at the ceiling. "Don't kill me?" he suggested.

Sarkos reached through the bars and grabbed Richard by the front of his robe, pulling him close. "Do not trifle with me, monster. Have you any last requests, or shall I leave you here to rot?"

"Okay, okay," Richard said, gently laying his hands on the man's arm, "one real request. Just one."

"Speak, then." the duke commanded.

"Who are those guys behind your guys?"

The expression on Sarkos's face as he turned was one of mixed rage and confusion. It turned to stark horror when his two bodyguards' heads popped off and rolled away, leaving their bodies to collapse in fountains of blood. In their places stood two thin figures, clad in dark robes, hooded, their hands clasped before them.

"Wh-who are you?" Sarkos stammered, backing away. He ran into the bars, through which Richard grabbed him by the back of his silk shirt.

"I don't know, but I _like_ them." Richard said into his ear, smiling.

Sarkos cried out, but his cry was cut short, strangled to a halt as green light engulfed his face and ate away his flesh. He sank to the ground, a grinning skull lolling on his shoulders, still wearing its plumed hat.

"_Hi I'm Richard!_" Richard said enthusiastically, stretching his hands as far as they would go past the bars.

The two hooded figures looked at each other.

"You are the warlock Richard?" the one on the left said.

"Don't wear it out."

"You are the one said to have escaped the thirteen hells?"

"I got this cool souvenir t-shirt." said Richard, producing a black garment which read, '_Hell of a Good Time!_'

The figures glanced at each other again. The one on the right pulled down his hood, revealing a pale, hollow-cheeked face, with gleaming black eyes, topped by thin, dark hair. "I am Wiles, ensign of the Brothers of Darkness."

"The whosy whatsit?" Richard inquired.

"The Brothers of Darkness." the one on the left replied, also pulling down his hood. His look was almost identical to his compatriot's. "An ancient and powerful organization of warlocks. We saw your actions, witnessed your plight, and have come to rescue you, with an offer to join our grand brotherhood."

"Are there membership fees?" Richard asked.

The two glanced at each other. "Small ones." Wiles replied.

Richard sighed. "I'm sure I have some spare tax money lying around somewhere. Sure, why not? I'll join your crazy club. Variety is the spice of afterlife, so they say. Kind of."

"Step back from the bars, then, and we will release you." Wiles commanded, shaking his sleeves back from his bony hands. Richard took a quick step back. Wiles muttered a few words under his breath, and the bars wrenched themselves out of the floor and ceiling and went hopping away across the dungeon, squeaking excitedly. The manacles let out a pair of sharp clicks, and dropped from Richard's wrists. He flexed his hands, then strode over to the pair of warlocks, throwing an arm over each of their shoulders.

"Wiley," he said, smiling at Wiles, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship."


	16. Chapter 16

The darkened room was lit by a single candle, and a circle of faceless figures sat arrayed around it. They all wore deeply hooded cowls, save one, whose yellow eyes blazed out in the orange candle-light. He looked around expectantly, straight-backed and wide-eyed, one leg jittering beneath the table.

From one figure came a rustle as it sat up a little straighter, then it cleared its throat.

"Are we all met?" it asked in a deep, sonorous voice.

"Aye," replied the figure to Richard's right.

"And who is this stranger, brought into our midst?"

"Hi, I'm Richard." Richard said, waving cheerily. The figure on his right elbowed him sharply in the side. "Ow!"

"He is the one of whom I told you, Brother Yanni." the figure to Richard's left answered. "The one who escaped the Thirteen Hells, who has raised an army of the undead, and who wrought destruction upon Greyvale, Thomaston, and Brookhaven."

"And Riverwood." Richard put in helpfully, and received another elbow in the side. "_Ow!_"

"We have indeed heard the exploits of this . . . Richard." the first figure said. "And has he the qualifications to be indicted into our brotherhood?"

Richard leaned over to the figure to his right, hand in front of his mouth, and whispered, "I don't think that means what he thinks it means."

The figure shook its head and sighed, putting a hand to the darkness where its face probably was. The potentate was still speaking in his resounding voice, while the other hooded heads nodded slowly.

"What? _What?_ Wiley, _what?_"

"This is a _ritual,_" Wiles hissed, "it is meant to be taken _seriously._"

"I _am_ taking it seriously." Richard retorted indignantly. "If I weren't, everyone would be on fire. You even gave me a candle. I'm behaving extremely well. For me."

"Just . . . don't speak unless you're spoken to. That's all I ask. All right?"

Richard rolled his eyes and sighed. "Oh all _right._ But I'll have you know this is a major departure for me."

"You don't say," Wiles mumbled through gritted teeth.

Meanwhile, the potentate, Yanni, was concluding his speech, saying, "And now, brothers, we must question the candidate, to determine his readiness to enter this ancient and secret brotherhood. Brother Wiles, speak for your charge."

Wiles rose smoothly and cleared his throat. "I believe the charge would prefer to speak for himself." he said, and sat again. There was a brief murmur among the assembled, before the leader raised his hand and silence fell.

"Very well," he said, "let the stranger rise."

"Ooh, that's me!" Richard said excitedly, hopping to his feet, and saluted.

After a moment, Yanni said, "What is your name, O Shrouded One?"

"I am _Richard_, Lord of the Thirteen Hells, Master of the Bones, and mayor of a little village up the coast." From outside, there was a roll of thunder. Richard's eyes crinkled. "I did that." he said proudly.

Yanni hesitated again before replying, "What, precisely, does the title 'Master of the Bones' entail?"

"I was hoping you'd ask that. You know, I got to thinking, 'I really did raise an army of the undead, didn't I.'" He stepped out from behind his chair and slowly began circling the twenty assembled figures, gesticulating the whole time, his fingers pale and vivid in the darkness. "And I thought, 'Who else has raised an army of the undead? Nobody, so far as I know.' And, you know, I did _such_ a good job raising them, you can actually tear them down to nothing but bones and they'll just pull themselves back together again." He leaned down and earnestly told one of the figures, "It makes them _much_ more portable, you know." Continuing his circling, he went on, "So I thought to myself, I'm a little short on titles, having just the one. Why not add another? So I did. 'Master of the Bones.' That's what I was doing on the ride over here. Not that I had much else to do."

"Hang on," said one of the other figures, pointing at Richard, "you can't just go around giving yourself titles."

"I can't?" Richard said, raising an eyebrow. "Says who?"

The figure looked at its compatriots. "Well, you just . . . _can't_. It's not done."

"Oh, is this _manners?_ Because I've never been very good at manners. They told me it was bad manners to sacrifice squirrels on the dinner table. Didn't stop _me_."

Yanni held up his hand again. "Nevertheless, you have proven your skill in raising the dead. You have escaped the Thirteen Hells alone, a feat no other has yet accomplished."

"I didn't _escape,_" Richard corrected, "I rode out. On a road paved with bodies."

"Er . . . did you?" Yanni said.

"Yes," Richard replied, "or did Wiley not tell you the part about how I killed every lord of hell on my way out? Because that was an important part, and if he left it out, he's getting a demerit." Richard scowled at Wiles, his hands on his hips. Wiles raised both hands in a pacifying gesture.

"I wasn't aware." he said.

"You could have _asked,_" Richard admonished.

"Silence, both of you." Yanni commanded. Richard pointed an accusatory finger at Wiles.

"He started it!"

"Nevertheless. We will move on with the questioning. You affirm that your name is Richard, Lord of the Thirteen Hells, Master of the Bones?"

Richard nodded sagely, crossing his arms. "I affirm." He jerked a thumb at the nearest hooded figure. "He a mushy."

Wiles sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slowly.

"And what right have you to join this most ancient and secret brotherhood?"

"You asked me to." Richard replied.

The potentate stiffened. "_Other_ than that." he clarified.

"Oh," said Richard, and scratched his chin, considering the ceiling. "Well, I _have_ raised an army of undead minions. And destroyed four towns. And some hamlets. Which are not just baby pigs. Although I killed a lot of those, too. In very humorous ways. I can do a puppet show!"

Covertly, Wiles made a _get-on-with-it_ gesture.

"And, uh, I took over the Thirteen Hells." Richard continued. "Annnnd . . . oh! And I kicked Death's head right off." He put his hands on his hips and beamed, taking in the faceless figures around him. "I think I'm qualified."

"V-very well," said Yanni, "the candidate has proven himself. But has he learned the tenets of our brotherhood?"

"I did!" Richard replied excitedly. "Wiley made me memorize them." He cleared his throat and said impressively, "_Secrecy. Loyalty. Power. Burmashave._"

Wiles made a strangled squeaking noise and buried his face in his hands.

Yanni slammed his hands down on the table and rose, allowing the light of the candle to illuminate his face. It was a ghastly, drawn, skull of a face, the skin pulled tight and dry across the bones, the teeth permanently bared. His eyes were shriveled orbs that glared out from sockets too large for them, appearing as points of white in a surrounding darkness. Richard raised an eyebrow.

"If you cannot take these proceedings seriously," Yanni warned, "you will be expelled from this brotherhood and cast back to the world a cursed man."

"Oh, I'm already cursed, I don't need another." Richard said, waving a hand nonchalantly. "And why is everyone always so _serious?_ All my life, and subsequently, I've been told to be serious. I refuse. I will _not_ be serious. I will do _this!_" With a flourish, he conjured a pair of glasses from thin air, with a huge false nose and bushy black eyebrows attached to them. He settled them on his face and folded his arms, regarding the head figure smugly. "Besides, you can't curse in here. There's children."

"_Enough!_" Yanni roared, bringing his fist down on the table and splitting the wood. The other hooded figures quickly retreated into the darkness. "I will not be made a mockery of!" He stretched out a hand toward Richard, sparks crackling along his fingers, their red light turning his tiny eyes into glowing embers.

"I doubt that." Richard said, and snapped his fingers. The sparks on Yanni's outstretched hand drew to a point, then exploded. He screamed horribly as the explosion tore the flesh from his bones, leaving him a blackened skeleton. The skeleton looked around, bones clacking, examining its surroundings and itself. It caught sight of Richard and took a step back. Richard waved cheerily.

"Hello!" he said brightly, then, pointing a finger at the skeleton and glaring a terrible glare through his conjured glasses, he commanded, "_Kneel._"

The skeleton scrambled to take a knee, in the process knocking off its own foot. Richard giggled, then looked around the room.

"I'm a big fan of dark and mysterious," he said, "but this is silly." In his hand, a bright ball of fire flared into existence. The hooded brethren shrank back, shielding their eyes from the bright light. They were all pale as death, and many had begun to adopt Yanni's corpselike appearance.

"That's better." Richard looked around the room, taking in the faces. "So is this one of those deals where I become your leader by default by killing your old one?"

Wiles took a hesitant step forward, clearing his throat. "Er . . . not exactly. The chief warlock is elected by a vote. In the event that he is . . ." he glanced at the kneeling skeleton, "impeached, a new chief warlock must be nominated and voted upon."

"Procedure," Richard opined, rolling his eyes. "And supposing I threaten to incinerate anyone who tells me I _can't_ be Chief Warlock? What happens then?"

Among the brotherhood, there was much darting of eyes. A few cleared their dry throats, some scratched their heads. Eventually, Wiles replied, "_Are_ you threatening to incinerate anyone who tells you that you can't be Chief Warlock?"

"Oh no, I wouldn't dream of it." Richard replied cavalierly. "You guys have your little vote, I'm going to take my new skeleton out dancing. Pick up your foot, silly, you dropped it." As he walked past Wiles, Richard clapped the other warlock on the shoulder. "I want a nice, clean vote, with no cheating, and at the end of it I want _everybody_ to be here to hear the results. _Capiche?_"

Wiles swallowed heavily and nodded. "I . . . understand." he said.

"Great!" He pulled off the silly spectacles and affixed them to Wiles's face. "From now on, every meeting chair should wear these. I think it would prevent the kind of melodrama we just had to endure. Toodles!" And with that, he beckoned to the skeleton of Yanni and skipped from the room, leaving the skeleton clattering along behind him, carrying its right foot in its hand.

* * *

><p>Some five minutes later, Wiles emerged from the darkened hall to find Richard lying on the ground with his feet propped up against the wall. The skeleton of Yanni was nowhere to be seen.<p>

"We, er, have come to a decision." Wiles said. Richard looked over at him curiously.

"Oh boy!" he cried, and rolled to his feet. "Are we going back in the creepy hall of doom?"

Wiles raised an eyebrow. "Er, yes, I will announce the results of the voting in the meeting hall, as you requested everyone be present and that is the only place we will all fit."

"Great!" Richard brushed past Wiles and darted back into the large stone structure. Outside, lightning flashed, illuminating the scenery for a brief moment. As rain began to fall, Wiles turned and followed Richard inside, his head hanging.

Back in the meeting hall, several more candles had been lit. The hooded brethren sat around the table, leaving only three seats empty—Wiles's, Richard's, and Yanni's. As Wiles entered, he shut the door behind himself. Richard was already dropping himself into Yanni's old seat, proceeding to prop his bare feet up on the splintered table.

"Drumroll, please!" he called, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in the chair.

Wiles cleared his throat. "It is the unanimous decision of this brotherhood—"

"Where are the glasses?" Richard demanded. Wiles sighed and wordlessly pulled the spectacles from his robe, affixing them to his face. Richard giggled.

"As I was saying," Wiles continued in a strained voice, "it is the unanimous decision of this brotherhood to elect Richard, Lord of the Thirteen Hells, Master of the Bones, as Chief Warlock of the Brothers of Darkness."

Richard leapt to his feet. "This is so unexpected!" he cried. He pulled a tiara from thin air and fixed it on his head, followed by a silken sash which he draped around his shoulders. "I'd like to thank the Academy, and all the little people, and whatever deity might have had a hand in arranging this." He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "This means so much to me!"

Around the room, most of the brethren had hidden their faces in their hands. One got to his feet, glaring daggers at Richard.

"I told them this was a bad idea. You haven't even been fully initiated, you have no idea of the workings of this brotherhood, you are unequipped to handle the responsibilities necessary—"

"I appoint Wiley as my VP of Darkness." Richard cut in. "To act as Chief Warlock when I'm out on business."

Wiles gaped at him. The objector ground his teeth. "You can't do that. It's against the rules."

"You people are so caught up on rules." Richard said, rolling his eyes. "You remember that guy who used to be in charge?"

"Of course I do."

"You remember how I killed him?"

The objector swallowed. "Yanni was not . . . necessarily . . . the most powerful of us. Besides, we are many, and you are but one."

"You are _pussies,_ and you all voted me into office." Richard retorted. "Now you have to deal with the consequences. Although, I'll be honest, I usually get someone else to deal with my consequences for me."

"As you allowed Brothers Wiles and Jordan to rescue you from your imprisonment?"

"Yes! Exactly like that. Although I could have gotten out on my own. I just wanted to see what would happen." Richard stuck a finger in his ear and twisted it back and forth. "Honest."

"Of course," Wiles murmured. "Nevertheless, Brother Richard—"

"I believe the official title is 'Chief Warlock,'" Richard interrupted, holding up an earwax-veneered finger.

Wiles sighed. "Nevertheless, Chief Warlock Richard, now that you are our leader, there are a few matters of business to be taken care of."

"Such as?"

"The battle-mages, for one."

"Are we slaughtering them all in their beds? I vote we slaughter them all in their beds."

"Tempting as that may be, it would be logistically quite difficult. They are powerful, and they travel in groups, sometimes as many as seven together. No, our intent, which we decided upon prior to your initiation, was to . . . convince the battle-mages they were no longer needed here."

"What, you mean _hide?_" Richard demanded. "Run away and hide like cowards?"

Wiles cleared his throat. "Not as such, no. Our intent was to lie low for several weeks, or perhaps move to a different region of Legara."

"So run away and hide like cowards." Richard repeated, then shrugged. "I'm okay with that."

"You . . . you are?" said the objector, his brows furrowed.

"Sure. I like traveling. I like massacring new towns and new populations. And I don't like fighting battle-mages. It _sucks_. Have you _seen_ those guys?"

Wiles shared a glance with the objector. "Yes. There is a reason we chose to come to your aid only once they had gone. So . . . you agree to our plan?"

Richard waved a hand noncommittally. "Sure, whatever. Is that everything? I want to look around the creepy castle."

"Er," Wiles said, glancing around at the circle of undead faces, "for now, yes."

"Great!" Richard cried, and leapt from his seat, scurrying off into the darkened hall behind him. Many pairs of glittering eyes turned to Wiles.

"You see?" he said, smiling easily as he removed the spectacles. "It's just as I told you. Not only did he dispose of Yanni for us, he is the greatest puppet leader an organization could wish for." He resumed his seat and steepled his fingers, still smirking. "Now, gentlemen, let's get down to _real_ business. I believe we have a valuable weapon here, if only we can point it in the correct direction."

The warlock who had been so adamantly against Richard before leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "He is a loose cannon, Brother Wiles. He cannot be controlled or contained. Bringing him here was a mistake. We must dispose of him as swiftly as possible."

"Oh, I quite agree, Brother Seras. But we may as well get some use out of him first. With proper instruction, he could dispose of two, perhaps even three battle-mages before he was overwhelmed. I consider that worth putting up with a little impudence and . . . _silliness_."

There were a few sniggers from around the table. Brother Seras rolled his eyes. "I think you are underestimating his potential for harm. He is more likely to get us destroyed in a confrontation with battle-mages than himself. He has a yellow streak a mile wide, and would not hesitate to put any of us between himself and impending doom."

Elsewhere in the circle, another figure stirred. "Brother Seras has a point," he said. "If we are to make the puppet fight the battle-mages, we must be certain he does it alone."

"Such was my plan, Brother Jordan. I merely intended that we train him in the weaknesses of battle-mages first, that we may derive some utility from his presence. Beyond, of course, his timely slaughtering of Yanni."

From the warlocks, there was a murmur of agreement. Jordan spoke out once more.

"We have no evidence he is capable of defeating one battle-mage, much less several. How can we be sure we are not wasting our time?"

"The gem." Wiles replied. "The gem he wears around his neck. Did you get a close look at it, any of you? I did. That gem is of a sort not found in this world. Its kind are found only one place."

"You don't mean to say," Seras cut in, "that that . . . _idiot_ actually escaped the Thirteen Hells?"

"I do mean to say." Wiles answered. "He is obviously quite powerful, but that much was evident in his destruction of Yanni. What we have here, gentlemen, is a siege weapon. We have only to point it at the correct walls."

"Very well," Seras said, "I'll consent to this plan. But I refuse to train him."

"I, as well, consent." said Jordan. "But I will have no part in his training."

"All in favor of the plan?" Wiles asked. All but two hands were raised. "The motion passes. Volunteers to train the siege weapon?"

Outside, a cricket chirped. Wiles sighed. "I should have known. Very well, gentlemen, I will take it upon myself to show our newest member the ropes. We will meet next week to discuss the results. All rise!"

As one, the brotherhood got to their feet and chanted, "_Secrecy. Loyalty. Power. In death we are risen mightier._"

Wiles pushed in his chair and simply said, "Meeting adjourned."


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Wow! It's been so long, but the muse FINALLY came back on this one. I'd almost given up hope. Here's hoping at least a few of you haven't given up yet, either!**

* * *

><p>Richard stared at the bear, and the bear stared at Richard.<p>

"Sup." he said eventually.

The bear grunted and showed a few teeth, shifting its weight, its nose twitching.

"So here's how this is gonna work." Richard told the bear. "You're gonna walk away and I'm not gonna kill you when I come down from this tree."

The bear gave a hoarse bellow and slammed its front paws into the tree, making the whole trunk shudder. Richard flung his thin arms around the narrow branch to which he clung, the tree swaying disconcertingly beneath him.

"Okay," he said, "but I warned you. Never let it be said I didn't warn you."

Grunting, the bear scratched at the tree, tearing off sheafs of bark. It kicked off the ground with its hind legs, grasping for the lowest branch. When it slammed back into the earth, the tree shuddered again, and the bear gave a frustrated cry, dropping to all fours to circle the tree.

Richard sighed and hit his forehead against the branch beneath him. "Where's Wiley when you need him?" he demanded. "You go away for four little months and it's like they forget you exist."

Below, the bear roared at him again.

"Nobody asked you!" Richard cried down to it.

_It was at that moment,_ he thought, _that our hero discovered he could fly._ He shook his head. _I hate Deus Ex Machinas. So cheap._

He leaned his head out over the edge of the branch, looking down at the ground below. The bear was looking up at him, its beady eyes gleaming in the bright noon-day sun.

"What're you looking at?" Richard demanded. "I should set you on fire. I _would_ set you on fire, if I could."

"_Raoumf,_" said the bear, taking a casual swipe at the tree. A chunk of wood the size of Richard's hand flew off of the trunk.

Richard prodded the jewel on his chest, which had turned white and dull. "I knew it." he said. "I _told _me so. I _knew_ I shouldn't have made that castle fly." His eyes narrowed and he chuckled to himself. "Heh heh. Castle-fly."

The bear leapt up at the tree again, scrabbling at the bark with its huge claws. Richard emitted a sound he hadn't known himself capable of and scrambled onto a higher branch, which bowed almost to vertical under his weight. He could feel himself sliding and gripped the branch more tightly, his fingernails peeling bark off the branch. The bear thudded to the ground and Richard slid a few more inches towards the end of the branch, which was creaking ominously.

"It's times like these," he commented to himself, "I often wonder if I shouldn't have indulged in a bit of religion, just so I'd know who to curse."

The bear growled down below. Gravity slowly peeled Richard off the branch, inch by inch, the top of the tree leaning far over to the side with his weight.

"Maybe if I don't believe in gravity," he muttered, "it won't apply to me." He squeezed his eyes shut and chanted under his breath, "I _do_ believe in fairies, I _do,_ I _do!_"

The part of the branch clasped in his hands dwindled to finger-thickness, and he cracked open an eye. Directly beneath him, the bear was sitting patiently, watching.

"Mommy," Richard whimpered, and the branch slipped out of his grasp. Gravity, it appeared, had not ceased believing in Richard, and he plummeted to the ground, cracking through several branches on the way. There was an uncomfortable squelching sound accompanied by the crunch of breaking bones when he finally landed. Whatever air he had had in his lungs was forced out in a rush by the impact. A ringing filled his ears and a swarm of technicolor sparks swam before his eyes.

"That shouldn't be possible," he croaked.

Past the ringing in his ears, he heard a snuffling sound. Hot, damp air gusted against his cheek.

"Oh dear." he said, and held very still.

The bear sniffed at him for a long time before finally taking his arm in its mouth.

"That isn't food!" Richard cried, attempting to pull himself away from the bear. His broken bones refused to cooperate, however, and he twitched pathetically, flopping like a fish out of water. The bear tugged on his arm, then shook its head viciously from side to side. Richard could feel the tendons tearing, bone grating on bone as his shoulder was torn from its socket.

The bear paused, and Richard commented, "It's a really good thing I can't feel pain, otherwise this would _really_ hurt."

The bear went back to its work, and moments later Richard's arm tore clean off. Green goo oozed from the torn limb. The bear dropped it, sniffed at the goo, and lumbered away with a grunt.

"Oh _that's_ nice!" Richard called after it, then muttered, "Could've figured out I wasn't edible _before_ ripping my arm off. Nobody's got no class."

With some effort, he rolled along the ground until he reached his severed arm, which waved weakly at him.

"Don't give me that," he scolded. "We wouldn't be in this mess if you didn't look so delicious."

The arm flopped dejectedly and began to slowly drag itself away across the ground.

"Where do you think _you're_ going?" Richard demanded, scooting along after the arm like an inch-worm. "We're not done here."

The fingers scrabbled at the earth and the arm picked up its pace.

"Hey!" Richard cried, as his arm went scrambling away. "Get back here! Don't _make_ me stop this forest!"

Up ahead, the hand wrapped itself around something in an iron grip. The something screamed and kicked. Richard rolled onto his side and looked up just in time to see the armored lizard-man take a spear from the strap across his back. The lizard-man was dressed in leather armor, equipped with a bow, a knife, and a large spear that was even then thrusting towards Richard's erstwhile limb.

"Wait!" Richard cried. "That's my arm!"

The grasping hand let go of the lizard-man's ankle just before his spear came crashing down, missing the arm by inches. The arm scuttled back to Richard and pulled itself on top of his head, nearly yanking off his black cowl. The lizard-man turned his golden eyes on Richard, considered him for a moment, then raised one brow-ridge.

"Who are _you?_" he demanded in slimy, hissing voice.

Richard cleared his throat. "I am _Richard!_" he cried. "Lord of the Thirteen Hells, Chief Warlock of the Brothers of Darkness, Master of the Bones, and mayor of a little village up the coast." He paused. "I appear to be in need of the services of a healer."

The lizard-man stared at him for a long moment, then laughed raucously. "Tell me this, Richard of the many titles." he said. "Do you like to kill people?"

"_Do _I?" Richard cried, his eyes lighting up with glee. "I mean, ahem, it depends on who's asking, and how much trouble I can get into."

The lizard-man put his spear back into its strap and walked over to Richard, eyeing him critically. "You are a warlock, are you not?"

"I am." Richard affirmed. "I also just fell out of a tree and got my arm torn off by a bear."

"Not a very powerful warlock, then."

"I am too!" he objected. "Just . . . not at the moment. I made a castle fly. Right out over the ocean. It's still going, for all I know. Kind of jumped the shark on that one." His eyes narrowed in merriment and his voice took on a congenial tone. "Get it? _Jumped the shark?_"

"It so happens, Richard of the many titles, that my company is in need of a warlock. Perhaps you could fill the void."

"What sort of company? I have responsibilities, you know."

"We're mercenaries." the lizard-man replied. "We also have a healer."

"I'm in!" Richard said. "What do you do, exactly?"

"We kill people for money, what do you think?"

"What kind of people?"

"Any kind we're told."

"And you need a warlock?"

"Our last one got killed by battle-mages."

Richard's disembodied arm gave the lizard-man a thumbs up. "Okay, guy. Let's roll."

* * *

><p>Richard thought being dragged into the camp on a little sled was almost worth it, just for the looks the lizard-man dragging him received. The crew was small, only four or five people, but there was enough weaponry displayed on them to arm a small country. The lizard-man dragged him to the center of camp, where there smouldered the remains of a large fire. The lizard-man dropped the ropes attached to Richard's makeshift sledge and yelled, "Oska!"<p>

From the nearest tent, a tanned, dark-haired woman emerged, rubbing her eyes with pudgy-fingered hands. "I swear, Sanith, one day I'll have your forked tongue out." she griped.

"I've brought you a little present." the lizard-man replied, and gestured to Richard. "He's a warlock."

Oska gave Richard a critical look. Richard's arm waved cheerily. "His arm's off." Oska said.

"I found a bear." Richard told her. "She didn't want to be friends. I wanted to be friends."

Oska raised a thick eyebrow. "How come he's dragged you all the way here?"

Sanith answered, "He's mostly broken."

"Didn't ask you." Oska snapped. "Right, warlock. I can set you to rights, but I don't do nothing for free."

Richard's eyes widened. "So you get people to pay you for doing nothing?" He squinted. "You're not a politician, are you?"

"Here's my deal, warlock." Oska continued. "I'll get your arm back on and your bones back together, and in return you'll help us with our next thirty kills."

"Pfft," said Richard, "that's ridiculous. I'll do thirteen and no more."

Oska yawned. "You'll do thirty or you'll learn to do your spells one-handed."

"Fine, thirty." said Richard. "But I expect the kills to be fun and interesting. I was promised fun and interesting."

"He was promised no such thing." Sanith cut in.

"You'll get your share of bloodletting, warlock." Oska said. "Now not one more word, or I'll fix your arm on backwards."

Richard's detached hand clasped itself over his mouth. He nodded, eyes wide and expectant.

"Bring him into my tent," Oska commanded, turning away. Sanith bristled.

"Woman, you do not command me!" he cried. Oska turned her head and looked at him with one dark eye.

"I believe I do, Sanith. Or would you rather I put your arms back the way they were _before_ I happened across you? Bring him to my tent, dark one, and keep your forked tongue between your teeth."

Richard heard Sanith's teeth grinding. "Psst!" he hissed through his fingers. "Don't worry, the general store is having a sale on man-cards. I'm sure you can get a new one."

Sanith wrapped one of the sledge ropes around Richard's neck and hauled him into the tent, while Richard's errant arm made very rude gestures over his head.

* * *

><p>"There," said Oska, settling back, "it's done."<p>

Richard sat up, flexing the fingers of his newly attached arm. "Nice." he said. "Very nice. Thirty kills, you said?"

"Aye. And one wrong move, I'll feed you your own eyeballs."

"Gross." said Richard. "Who's your next target? Do I get to be a secret agent? Oh, and do you think we'll be passing any orphanages soon?"

Oska raised one bushy eyebrow. "What d'you want with orphans?"

"They're delicious."

The interior of Oska's tent was dim and smelled of sweat and blood. The ground was carpeted with animal pelts and a sack of weapons slumped by the foot of her bed.

"You're very well armed, for a healer." Richard commented.

"Get out of my tent." Oska ordered. The warlock scurried out.

"It's official." Richard lamented as the tent flap closed behind him. "Women hate me."

"One: Oska hates everyone." came a voice. To Richard's right, there stood a hulking half-man, half-hyena, wearing nothing but an unfortunately diaper-shaped loincloth. "Two: everyone hates warlocks. Three: you're ugly and you smell funny. My only question is: how'd it take you so long to figure it out?"

Richard stared critically at the hyena, one eye narrowed to a slit. "You're calling _me_ ugly?" he said at last.

The hyena laughed raucously, showing off two dozen sharp-pointed teeth. "Ha! Fair's fair, warlock." It stuck out a huge, claw-ended hand. "Khaargha."

"Lozenge?" Richard asked, producing one from his sleeve. The hyena rolled its yellow eyes.

"My _name_ is Khaargha." it said.

"Oh. I'm Richard. I'm here to kill things."

"Well you're in luck." Khaargha told him, shaking his hand. "There's a lovely little elf town right up the way we've been commissioned to tear to shreds."

"Hmmm," Richard pondered. "Do they have an orphanage?"

* * *

><p>Smoke was thick in the air, the night rang with screams. Amid the ruins of the orphanage, Richard paused for a moment, soaking in the renewed power that eddied around him. He had forgotten how <em>good<em> it felt, to literally be able to shake the foundations of the world. Even just being able to shake the foundations of an orphanage was pretty nice. Slaughtering the orphans had been pretty fun, too.

He looked at the teddy bear in his hands, pausing for a moment before completely incinerating it with a thought. It was oddly satisfying. That was when he heard the cry from the edge of the village.

"_Someone help us!_"

It had the unmistakeable tone of a villager about to die. Richard looked around himself, realizing that, while destroying the orphanage had been both fun and profitable, there was no longer anyone around for him to kill. He set off at a jaunty trot towards the outskirts of town, where the rest of his newly acquired party was happily murdering villagers.

He was never quite sure what happened to him, then. It was all well and good until Khaargha hit the elf child. One moment Richard was giddily drinking in the slaughter, and the next, something _snapped_ within him and it seemed as though a huge weight had fallen a great distance, slamming what little he had left of a soul back to consciousness. There was no telling what had caused it—some forgotten destiny from long before his accursed warlock days, some strange compulsion left over in his scattered mind—but whatever it was, it crashed down on and out and through Richard with a roaring, single-minded fury that eclipsed all thought. A small part of Richard managed to watch what happened next, while the rest was drowning under the raging storm of destiny.

Khaargha's head exploded in flame, then Sanith's. The little blue demon—Richard hadn't bothered to learn his name—went next, his misshapen head turned to ash before he had the chance to even scream. Everything burned—everything except the two elf children and the panther. As the flames subsided and the terrible power jerking Richard's limbs around like a puppet's washed back to wherever it had come from, Richard noticed that the slightly more effeminate one was staring at him through clouded eyes, her blood soaking the ground. He stared back until she fell into unconsciousness, completely bewildered by what had just occurred. By the time he was fully in control of himself, the elf monk had arrived.

The monk stared at him with a strange recognition, and also dread. Richard was not used to those expressions on other people, but the flood of strange power that had washed through him seemed to have scrubbed him of his usual wit.

"Your pets are bleeding," he told the monk, pointing at the two dying children.

The monk didn't say a word, merely hoisted the two children under his arms and ran back the way he had come, the young panther following along behind him.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Richard felt something.

Even stranger, the best word he could come up with for it was "guilt."

* * *

><p>"His destiny moves more swiftly than we had anticipated," the one said.<p>

"So it was written, so it shall be," the other replied.

"You're drooling a bit there."

There was a pause and a slurp.

"That's better. Will he go to the monastery?"

"He will not be able to resist. Destiny compels him. So it was written, so it shall be."

There was a sigh. "That's going to get very old, very fast, I feel."

* * *

><p>Richard had tried to leave. He had really, honestly, given it his best. Of all the places he could be, this wasn't one he had any good reason for. The Brothers of Darkness were certainly missing their leader. He hadn't seen Maikos or the old manor-house in so long he couldn't remember the last time he'd visited. There were whole <em>towns<em> out there he _wasn't slaughtering_, and for what?

There was something about the elf-child. That was all he'd been able to figure. For some reason, it was _this child_ that had caused some exterior force to take control of his body and all his power and kill a perfectly decent set of mercenaries instead of two innocent children. He knew it had happened—there was no denying that, even for someone as skilled at denying things as Richard—but he simply could not fathom _why._ So he had stayed and watched the child convalesce, and he had wondered endlessly and fruitlessly. After almost two days of this, his curiosity was so powerful it made him itch. So he resolved, that night, to find the monk who had recognized him and pump him for information, which he was certain the old elf had.

Richard was fairly good at sneaking, but he never could resist theatricality. He hiked up his robes and tip-toed on spindly feet down the dirt hallways, hunched over and muttering theme music to himself. It was probably only due to the intervention of Destiny that no one saw him at it.

It was by pure chance that he found the old monk. The elf was sitting in front of a small fire, meditating. The sight of him made Richard unaccountably furious, and he dropped his sneaking act and stormed into the room.

"All right," said Richard, "here's how it's going to—"

Somehow, he was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, with the monk's foot pressed into his throat.

"All right, warlock." the monk growled. "Here's how it's going to go. You're going to answer my questions, you're _not_ going to try anything funny, and you will not lay a hand on anyone within this monastery or so help me I will tear you limb from limb with my bear hands."

Despite himself, Richard giggled, a high, uncomfortable sound. "Bear hands," he croaked, his eyes mirthful. The monk's foot pressed down.

"What are you doing here?" the monk demanded.

"Hhrkggkl." said Richard. The pressure on his throat lessened slightly. "That's what I'd like to know," he replied.

"Shora said the dark man saved her. Was she speaking about you?"

Richard put on his best innocent face. "I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation."

The monk's eyes narrowed. "You are a warlock, and an undead at that. Why would you _save_ anyone?"

"Pfft," Richard said, "as if _I'd_ know."

The monk glared at him for a long moment.

"Why are you here?" he asked again, at last.

Richard looked at the old elf, and strangely, didn't feel like playing games anymore. "Something _happened_ to me out there." he said gravely. "It wasn't that I _wanted_ to save the kid. I _had_ to. I could have left him there to die about as easily as I could have tossed all my power over my shoulder and walked off without it. I don't understand and I don't think it's funny, and neither of those things happen to me very often."

Carefully, the monk took his foot off of Richard's throat. Richard arose, pinching the sides of his neck in an attempt to pop his trachea back into shape.

"Your coming was foretold to me." the monk said. "Cale'anon, the child you rescued, has a grave destiny upon him."

Richard started. "One of them was _male?_"

The monk chose to ignore that. "His care has been entrusted to me, until such time as he should choose to leave our monastery and embark upon his great destiny. I fear the wheels are already in motion for this. He must cut all ties to this place before his embarkation, but I fear he will still need a great deal of looking-after when he does."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "And you want _me_ to do this." he said. "You want _me_ to look after little Mr. So-Righteous-It-Hurts."

"No." the old elf replied. "I would much rather you stay on the opposite end of the world from him. But that choice is not mine to make; it has already been made without me. Whatever it was that made you save him is the same force that drives me to train him, that drives him away towards the outside world. It is inexorable, and it will work its will through us whether we like it or not."

"Well I _don't_ like it." Richard declared angrily. "I don't like being told what to do and I _certainly_ don't like being jerked around like a _marionette._"

"You don't have to like it," the monk told him dryly, "you just have to do it."

Richard's eyes narrowed. "We'll see about that," he muttered darkly, and swept from the room.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Thank you all so much for sticking with me. It's been a wild ride. Cheers.**

* * *

><p>Richard had run from the monastery, had thrown all his dignity to the wind and literally <em>run<em>, run until he'd found a way to move faster by stealing a horse, ridden it to death; then run until he'd found a ship and snuck on board, and he'd only killed five people along the way. Never getting tired and never needing to sleep were suddenly the most useful qualities he had.

Slouched between two piles of boxes below-decks, rocked back and forth by the waves as the ship traveled steadily away from Destiny, Richard finally took a moment to think. Richard finally paused in his mad flight.

Richard suddenly realized that Destiny was not pulling him back.

He sighed, somewhat satisfied, and laced his fingers behind his head. "Now, this is more like it." he commented to no one in particular. "No responsibilities, no worries—we might even meet a kraken!"

The velociraptor in the cage across from him opened one golden eye, looking peeved at the interruption to its sleep.

"Don't look at me like that," Richard accused. "You don't know what it's like to get pulled into someone's Destiny-with-a-capital-D. You're just a dinosaur."

The velociraptor shrugged, as if to say, _yes, I'm just a dinosaur. Please stop talking._

"I wonder if I could be a dinosaur," Richard pondered, considering the implications of such a thing. He turned inquiring eyes to the velociraptor. "How many of your vital organs do you actually _need?_"

The dinosaur's lip curled, just a little, just enough to show off the point of one very white, very sharp tooth.

"Oh, fine." Richard slumped back into his improvised box-throne. "It would take too much effort, anyway. I'd rather just be king of the boxes."

The velociraptor's eye closed and it sighed.

Richard finally allowed himself to relax after all that running. Slowly, he slid into the trance-like state that passed for his sleep, and wondered, briefly, if there were many towns across the sea in need of pillaging.

* * *

><p>The years passed, and Richard found himself growing restless. Massacring the population was all well and good, spreading fear and chaos were still his greatest pleasure in life, there were plenty of babies to devour and furry woodland creatures to incinerate, but he began to feel that there was something <em>missing<em>. He was plagued by thoughts of the little monastery across the sea, of the old monk who had told him he had a Destiny, or a part in someone else's. Snippets and flashes of his old life, before he died, kept coming back to him—voices in the woods, nightmares, hallucinations and dreams.

It took seventeen years for him to get fed up enough with the persistent bombardment from his mind to finally stalk his way back to that monastery. He took his time, pretending that that particular place was not his destination. He would go check on Maikos and the family manor. He would go visit Wiles and the Brotherhood of Darkness. Some of the towns he'd burned down might even have been rebuilt. Someone, dread to think, might have started a religion, and Richard was missing it! So he headed back to the sea, back across it, back through well-traveled cities and uninhabited woodland, burning and killing as he went—you know, to pass the time.

But finally he found himself standing in front of the monastery.

And the weight of Destiny pressed down upon him again.

* * *

><p>Richard waited until night to wander in. Somehow, it seemed appropriate. He briefly considered hiding behind corners and jumping out at the monks, but realized after the first one clobbered him in the face with a quarterstaff that he really wasn't in the mood for it.<p>

Again purely by accident—or maybe, he supposed, Destiny—Richard found the old master, looking older and more masterful than before, sitting cross-legged before a shrine with his back to the door. Richard stood on the threshold for a moment, considering what the best entrance line would be.

"You're back." the monk said. Richard cursed himself silently. There went all his badass-one-liner points.

"You remember me!" he cried gleefully. Where badassery was lost, humor could always be used as a fallback.

"You're not exactly forgettable." the monk replied, rising creakily and turning to face him. Then he sighed, something like sadness on his face. "I suppose this is the sign I've been waiting for."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Is it a sign of the apocalypse?" He rushed forward and grabbed the monk by the arm, clinging to his elbow. "Please tell me I'm a sign of the apocalypse!"

The monk brushed him off. "No. It is time for Cale'anon to leave this place. It is time for me to cut his ties."

"You say that grimly. It makes me think there will be killing involved. Will there be killing involved?"

The monk's only answer was a look of grave and hollow despair. Richard tried not to squeal with glee.

He failed.

* * *

><p>He watched the old man kill the elf's young wife. It was strangely unsatisfying. The elf had already run off, screaming like a girl over his lover's apparent betrayal. Richard disliked the old man's plan (it lacked <em>pizzazz<em>), but he had to admit that it had so far been effective.

He walked into the room as the monk was cleaning the blood off of the knife and his hands, lingering in the doorway. The body was still on the floor, her eyes wide, lips parted, throat slit.

The old monk looked up suddenly, startled, his face aged ten years in the last five minutes. When he saw Richard standing just outside the room, he looked back down.

"My role in this is done." he said gravely. "I leave him in your charge."

"I like making friends." Richard replied. Destiny kicked him in the heel and he stepped into the room, slowly, quietly.

The old man sighed. "It had to be done," he said, almost to himself. "It was necessary that he cut all ties. He can never return."

"Of course. Destiny demands." Richard said. Destiny demanded he take another step forward by kicking him in the back of the knee. Richard didn't try to resist. He could see where this was going and he liked it. For once, he and Destiny had the same thing in mind.

"I wish there had been another way," the monk lamented. He took a deep breath, centering himself. "But this guilt is my burden to bear. It was my duty. I will carry it for the rest of my days."

"Sure you will." Richard said. He was within arm's reach of the monk now. His face darkened and his voice dropped to a hoarse growl. "That shouldn't be very long."

He let the monk turn around, because he had to see the fear in his eyes. And there was fear. But there was also . . . gratitude? Richard didn't pause to examine it. He grabbed the monk by the face, his thumbs digging into the eye-sockets. The monk screamed, green light poured from his open mouth and his bleeding eyes and tiny snakes of green fire raced up Richard's arms as he sucked the monk's soul from his body. In moments, it was over, and the monk fell to the floor, mouth agape, unmoving.

Richard smacked his lips ponderously.

"Tastes like chocolate," he said.

At a small scrabbling from the corner of the room, he looked over. There was a cage with greens and grasses and a rabbit. The rabbit looked at him with large, shiny eyes. Its nose twitched.

"I don't know why you'd think _you'd_ be exempt." Richard snapped at it. "I eat cute woodland creatures like you for breakfast." He paused to consider. "Sometimes literally."

The nose twitched. The huge ears slowly stood up. The shiny eyes gleamed.

Richard sighed and slumped, defeated, the chocolaty taste of the monk's soul still lingering on his tongue. "Oh, all _right._ I'll open the door. That's all. That's it. Then you're on your own."

The rabbit hopped over to the door of its cage. Richard could feel Destiny prodding him in the back as he shuffled over to let the rabbit out. When he did, the rabbit looked at him for slightly longer than was comfortable, then hopped away with calm determination.

Richard glared at the sky. "I'm going to burn down this monastery," he declared.

Destiny didn't seem to object.

* * *

><p>Once he'd gotten out of sight of the ash plume from the monastery, it didn't actually take Richard all that long to find the elf-boy-woman-thing. He could smell the righteous optimism from a mile off. You'd think he hadn't had his heart torn out by his wife just a few days before.<p>

The task was made especially easy by the fact that the stupid child was _soliloquizing_.

He was standing in a clearing with the sun shining down on him. Richard wondered how long it had taken the boy to find the spot. Considering his strange and innocent optimism, he had probably stumbled on it by accident.

"Greetings, world!" the boy cried. Richard rolled his eyes and leaned himself against a tree, wondering if Destiny would mind too much if he stole the Chosen One's cloak and ran off with it. "I am _Cale'anon_, the young and bold adventurer seeking to become the greatest hero history has ever known." Incredibly, unbelievably, a bluebird flitted down and landed on the boy's finger. Richard nearly gagged.

"I will help people in distress—"

Richard couldn't take it anymore. Destiny was winding up to kick him in the knee again and he'd had enough. If he was going to accompany this idiot, it was going to be on his own terms.

"_Cough,_" Richard said.

And the young elf turned around, his eyes full of hope and a smile on his face. . . .

**THE END**


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